The Pet
by DrivebyReader
Summary: "The spiked hand/that has an affection for one/and proves it to the bone." Historical fiction set in 19th century German Empire. Poland's sister, the city of Danzig (my OC) becomes Prussia's hostage to save her brother's life. A love story that failed, with mental, physical and sexual abuse.
1. Chapter 1 Her Arrival

**The Pet**

**Chapter I Her Arrival**

**Berlin, October 1871**

"Danzig is the key to everything." Napoleon

"The spiked hand/that has an affection for one/and proves it to the bone." Marianne Moore, "Marriage"

Adelajda Konstancja Łukasiewicz, the city of Danzig, stood on the platform of the train station in Berlin. Train whistles blew and conductors called names of cities, some which she recognized from her days in the Hanseatic League. Men and women strode by her purposefully, speaking amongst themselves in the quick, hard-sounding German of the region. She could understand them, since Germans and Poles had intermingled in her city for centuries. _Here she was_ , she realized_, _and now there was no turning back

When she and Elena, the city of Krakow, had volunteered—no,_ demanded_— that their brother Feliks let them share the burdens of partition, she hadn't realized how overwhelming it would actually be. She just knew how ill he looked when she had seen him during the past few visits to Danzig (in private, they used her Polish name, Gdansk) enroute to spending four months in Russia, and her heart felt for him. He was trying so hard to keep her and Elena from suffering, but they were young women now and needed to protect him as he had protected them. When she and Elena had come up with their plan to spare his health, he had refused at first, out of stubborn pride. Finally, the two sisters had to go behind his back, presenting their proposition to their ruling powers. At first, Prussia had been dismissive in his letters to Adeladja; he claimed he was sorry that she was alarmed by her brother's condition, and threatened to spare her further worry by ending Feliks's visits. Then after the declaration of the German Empire in January of this year, Prussia's letters changed their tone. Now he was willing to consider her offer and would even work with Austria and Hungary (who had agreed to the sisters' plan first) to persuade Russia. Under the new arrangement, Elena would go to Vienna, since Krakow fell in the Austria-Hungarian Empire, Adeladja would go to Berlin as the property of Prussia and the newly crowned German Empire, and Feliks would remain in Warsaw, under Russia's rule. Ivan Braginski finally consented, and as time grew closer, Adeladja prepared for her departure from the city she had represented during her whole existence.

Two things remained to be done. First, she continued corresponding with Prussia, hoping to finalize in writing the specifics of their agreement, but he kept replying that they would do that on her arrival in Berlin. That did not put her at ease, especially after completing her second goal, which was her last meeting with her brother before he left for Warsaw.

Adeladja remembered how pale and thin Feliks had looked in the spring, but the fire in his light green eyes remained. He had resigned himself to spending his time in Russia because his people there needed him the most after the cruel putdown of the 1862 January uprising, and he knew he would not suffer alone. Latvia, Lithuania, and even Russia's sister, Belarus, were all being punished for the different rebellions their mortals had started after the Poles began theirs. He had seen Elenka for the last time, safe in Vienna with their family friend, Hungary, and he could trust Austria would be a gentleman to her. But, he had told Adeladja, he worried most about her.

"There's no reason to worry about me. I worry about you, Feliks," Adeladja had replied, taking his hands. They had been so thin, she felt the bones and tendons under his pale, rough skin. "The constant traveling, the going from one nation's oppression to another's; it was grinding you into dust!"

Feliks had shrugged. "_Tak_, both Russia and Prussia are cruel, but there's a difference to them. Ivan can beat me senseless one moment, and then revive me with vodka and talk of music and literature the next. He is like the boy who beats his pony because he honestly thinks it can't feel pain and that is the only way to make it go. And then there's the boy who beats his dog because he knows it feels pain and he enjoys the power he has to do so." Feliks had looked looked long and hard at Adeladja. "Gilbert Bielschmidt is _that_ boy."

Adeladja had tried to hide her shudder. "He has been very polite in his letters to me and I am sure the German Empire will not allow him to treat me in such a fashion."

Feliks had smiled joylessly."You'll see what the German Empire can and cannot do when it comes to Prussia. And who knows, Adeladja, maybe you're right. He might treat a female entity better than a male. But I want you to remember two things." His green eyes had flashed gold and peridot green as he clutched her shoulders. Adeladja had gasped at her brother's unexpected strength. "First, you _must _do whatever you can to ensure the safety and survival of our mortals, not just in your city, but now the whole Empire. You are a Polish city, no matter if they call you Danzig and claim you've always been theirs." She was about to protest that of course she knew that, but his fierce gaze silenced her. "They'll try to convince you that you are more German than Polish, that you always belonged to them, and they'll go on for so long about it that you'll almost believe them. Don't ever let them convince you of that, no matter what. And finally, don't do anything to bring shame on our people or family, for you represent us. It would break my heart to hear you have forgotten yourself in any way." He had leaned over and kissed her forehead before she could point out his contradictory statements, and left.

So here she was in Berlin during October. She leaned against her trunk and sighed. The afternoon sun shining right in her face made it difficult to see, so she shaded her eyes with a gloved hand as she scanned the platform and carriages.

A wild thought came to her. Maybe she could avoid this after all! She could get the train back to Danzig, and go back to her house on Long Street. When Prussia would finally realize he had been outfoxed and demand her return to Berlin, she would mildly reply that that was not possible, but she would be happy to serve him from her city. It was, after all, in Prussia. But then she thought of Feliks and how he would suffer for her refusal to honor the agreement, and she felt guilty. Still, no one seemed to be coming for her, and -

"Fraulein Danzig?" Someone was speaking close by. "Fraulein Danzig!" She recognized that voice. The last time she had heard it, it had been 1793, the year of the third partition, when Prussia had claimed her as his share. She had heard rumors of what he had planned to do to her, and she had been preparing to go into hiding. He and his sister Maria, the city of Königsberg, had banged on her locked door, wheedling, taunting, and finally threatening her. By the time they and their mortals had banged down the door, she had fled through a hidden servant's entrance, faithful Danziger mortals leading her through a network of attics and rooftops to a safe place. The harsh tenor voice and Berliner dialect still had the power to unnerve her.

She turned and _saw him _in a Prussian officer's military tunic standing behind her. She had to admit that being the Kingdom of Prussia had certainly been good for Gilbert Bielschmidt. He was of medium height, and slender. The uniform flattered his broad shoulders and trim waist. His pale skin was slightly sunburned on his nose's bridge and cheekbones and his white-blond hair drifted in his face. He seemed healthier and more confident than he had been as the Teutonic Order and the Duchy of Prussia.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Adeladja," Prussia said. His irises were a dark red. Adeladja had forgotten how disturbing his eye color could be. She flicked him a smile and curtseyed. She was no longer a Royal City of Poland, nor a Free State; she had to show some submission to him.

"Here I am, Herr Bielschmidt, just as I promised," she murmured. When she looked up, she noted his approval.

"Ja, here you are," he admitted. "And I must say, your German pronunciation is a pleasure to hear after your brother's."

"Danke, mein Herr," she said, relieved. He began to stride off, and she stared after him, stunned. He stopped, turned and snapped, "_Wat?"_

Adeladja tilted her head towards her trunk. The Prussian huffed. "You won't need all that." He looked at the carpet bag at her feet. "You can bring that." When Adeladja hesitated, he picked it up and tossed it to her. "Come." He strode off and she trotted after him. "But my clothes, Herr Bielschmidt—" she protested.

He spun around so quickly, she almost ran into him. He grabbed her chin. "First," he said, "you will call me MeinHerr Preußen. We are not equals, we are not allies, you're not even a principality or a state. _You_, Fraulein Danzig, might be a city, but you are _my _city, as well as a stand-in for your brother, and I will call you whatever I feel like." He smiled, a wolf baring its teeth. "Second, as to clothes, you are not here to set the fashions. You will be given whatever clothing is deemed appropriate for your station. Do you understand me, _Adeladja_?" His use of her personal name rattled her. He was making it clear that he saw her as inferior and unworthy of courtesies used among entities.

"Ja." She swallowed hard to shove down the lump rising in her throat. "Ja, MeinHerr Preußen."

He looked almost playful as he waggled her chin. "Ja_, wat_?"

"_Ja, ich verstehe Sie_.1" She cast her eyes down. "MeinHerr Preußen." She added for good measure.

"Gut. Now, there is my carriage." He took her hand and pulled her along to a landau with its top up. He helped her into the carriage, jumped in light as a cat, and settled in the seat facing her. The coachman whipped up the horses and she steeled herself for the bounce and jolt of the ride.

Herr Prussia leaned back and stretched out his legs. He rested his cheek against his hand and studied her. Adeladja looked out the window, noticing how new the houses and roads looked. Berlin is not an old city, she thought.

"What can you do, Adeladja?" His tone seemed almost friendly."I have to find something for you. It was easy with your brother. I could put him in the Army or set him to work in the stables. Or other things." He winked at her, and she shuddered, even if she wasn't sure about what he insinuated. "So, what can you do?"

"MeinHerr Preußen, I read, write and speak Polish, German, Russian, French and Dutch. I have a reading knowledge of Danish, English, Swedish and Latin." She knew that her Latin had always been more correct than his. "I know geography, the movement of stars and planets, and how to use the most modern navigation tools. I paint and sketch rather well, I know the most fashionable dances, I play—"

"Can you bake?" Prussia interrupted. "Can you make _makowiec _or _sernik?""_2

Adeladja blushed. "I know the recipes, but I always had mortals do the actual baking."

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "That's odd. Your brother could bake. How about other food?" He asked. "Can you make _flaki, zupa gryzbowa, pierogi, gołąbki_ or _bigos?"_3

"Again, Mein Herr, I know the recipes and I can tell when they have been successfully executed, but," she sighed, "I had mortals cook for me."

Prussia sighed. "Can you at least _mend _clothing or darn socks?"

Adeladja was feeling very small. "I can embroider and knit lace."

"So you're basically useless," Prussia declared. "First, you're not a man, so that makes you no good for most tasks anyway. Second, you can't even bake, cook or do useful sewing. It's all fine lady work and I can find a thousand _fine ladies_ to do half the things you do. So again, Adeladja," he repeated, his eyes roving over her until she blushed, "what am I going to do with you?" He narrowed his eyes and smirked at her.

For the first time, Adeladja felt afraid, and even angry at his dismissiveness. Now she regretted that she had not bargained better in writing what her duties would be in Berlin. But she had been so eager to end her brother's suffering, that she had felt rushed for time. She would have to negotiate at a disadvantage, but first she would have to hide her nerves.

She raised her chin, looked into his eyes, and spoke clearly. "I know how to balance accounts, how to convert every kind of weight and measurement system, and how to convert currencies. I know how to compound interest, and how to tell counterfeit currency from true. I know international shipping law and customs," she concluded. She had been—_is—_an important trade city, after all.

"I guess that could be useful." He looked out the window and then smiled back at her. "See? That is my house."

She turned and saw a large neoclassical building looming in the distance. The carriage clattered along a bridge decked with heroic statues.

"That's the Stadtschlosse. _One_ of my homes." Prussia said proudly. "What do you think?"

"It's very impressive, MeinHerr Prueßen," she said obediently. Frankly, she thought it was too large and cold-looking. But if he wanted her to be awestruck, then she was.

"You may see my other homes," Prussia said grandly, "_if_ I decide that is part of your job."

They rolled up to the Stadtschlosse and Prussia leapt out. He offered her his hand and helped her out of the landau. Adeladja felt very humble with only her traveling suit and carpet bag.

She followed him through the entrance and halls along the ground floor. It seemed every mortal knew whom he was; the guards and servants nodded and slid out of their way. Finally after so many turns and doorways, he brought her to a room. It was small and sparsely furnished, but the four-poster bed, two chairs and writing table, and an ancient-looking cabinet seemed to be of good workmanship. The carved stone fireplace was dirty and the bed hangings and curtains were in need of a good beating for dust and goodness knows what else.

Prussia watched her place her carpet bag on the table. "You won't have a personal maid here," he announced, "but you will have a member of the household staff clean your room weekly. Also, I've notified the staff that the room will now be occupied, so you'll get coal and lamp oil weekly and water daily. You'll have to put in your own request for a bath with this wing's steward. You'll take your meals with the household staff in the downstairs kitchen." He told her the times staff ate, and she nodded.

"There," he said, looking around with an air of satisfaction. "Put away your things, go to dinner and rest up. I'll let you know when I have figured out what you'll do to earn your keep around here, ja?"

Adeladja scanned the dimly lit room, its cold bare floors, and dirty windows. She realized her carpet bag had only basic toiletries, some sentimental jewelry, and one other shift and pair of stockings and drawers. Unpacking would take no time at all. "Ja, Mein Herr," she sighed.

He sauntered around her, close enough to touch. Adeladja watched him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to control her breathing. Prussia finally stopped behind her, his breath grazing her ear. Adeladja tensed.

"What do you say when someone does something nice for you, Adeladja?" He purred.

"Danke, Mein Herr Preußen." She forced herself to turn and face him, head high. If he were going to violate her now, she thought, she would make him work for it and see her resentment, anger, and pain. She wondered if he could hear how loudly her heart was beating.

"Gut." He smiled, no kindness in his dark red eyes. "Now get settled in!" As he left, he swatted at her bustled behind. "Kesesese!" He cackled as he left, smirking at her jump and squeal. Adeladja glared after his back, as he shut the door on her and her new life.

**Well, here it is, the story of the relationship between Prussia and Poland's sister, my original character, the city of Danzig (Gdansk). I know she wasn't exactly a fan favorite when she made her appearance in Maiden and Unicorn, but now we might see where her bitterness came from. I hope you like it and want to read more. Please let me know what you think in reviews!**

1 German: Yes, I understand you

2 Polish: poppy seed pastry; cheesecake. Prussia hates a lot of things about Poland, but Polish pastry is not one of them

3 Beef tripe soup, mushroom soup, stuffed potato dumplings or hunter's stew. Very popular and classic Polish recipes.


	2. Chapter 2 Her Position

**Chapter 2 Her Position**

**So let's see what Adeladja's work will be, ja?**

It had been a few days since her arrival and Adeladja had not seen Prussia. It was a blessing, she figured; she not only locked her bedroom door at night, but wedged a chair under the knob as well. She had cleaned her room as much as she could with limited supplies, but it still felt dark and cold. She took her meals with the staff, but she had too much time on her hands. She had no books, no pen and paper, nothing but her toiletries and a traveling suit that was becoming rumpled and a little rank.

As Adeladja finished her breakfast in the staff kitchen, she wondered what she would be expected to do. She assumed something hard and menial, a way for Prussia to remind her she was now under his command. He had been contemptuous of her actual skills and he seemed like the kind of character who would enjoy seeing her, a wealthy, powerful city, reduced to scrubbing out chamber pots or scouring pans with sand. If that was her fate, then so be it, she thought. There would only be shame in such work if she felt it was shameful; it would be hard and demanding, but hard work could be honorable, especially if done for a good cause, like her brother's health.

One of the palace stewards came over and gestured for her to follow him. She assumed she was going to see Prussia and find out her work. Be calm, she told herself, as she followed the steward up a flight of stairs and through more halls and rooms. Finally, he led her into what seemed to be a glorified closet, filled with shelves of books, ledgers, crockery and scattered baskets and papers. There was a window, a table stacked with more books and household items, and a small desk with a chair. The steward left her, and she turned about, studying the mess and wondering what she was supposed to do with it.

"Guten Morgen, Adeladja." Prussia peeked his head into the room. "I found something for you to do!" He entered and Adeladja realized there was very little room to turn, retreat or hide. He was barely an arm's length away from her, wearing his usual hard grin as she stifled her worry and tried to look calm and expectant.

"This is your office," he said, sweeping his hand around the little room. "Or rather, it's one of the kitchen stewards' offices, but he's been a little lax on the job. You mentioned you could do accounts, ja?" Adeladja nodded. "Well, that's what you're doing, Fraulein. Kitchen accounts!" He smiled as if he expected her to kneel and clasp his knees with joy.

_It is better than scrubbing chamber pots,_ she told herself. Adeladja curtseyed and said, "I will do my best, MeinHerr Preußen." She scanned the desk, which looked like it hadn't been cleaned or sorted in weeks. "I will need a few things, MeinHerr," she said thoughtfully. "If I may have fresh ink and pens, a blank ledger, paper, a clerk's lamp and an abacus for counting, I will be able to work more efficiently."

Prussia shrugged. "I'll have those sent to you." He turned, about to leave, when Adeladja cleared her throat. "Ja, Fraulein?"

"Where am I to begin? Where did the last steward leave off?" she asked. There were so many piles of paper, so many ledgers in various conditions and sizes.

"I don't know!" He exclaimed impatiently. "I'm not a clerk! Look through all this and figure it out." His tone softened and he edged closer again. "So, Adeladja, what do you say when someone gives you work suited to your talents?"

Adeladja curtseyed, conscious of how close her lowered head was to his chest in the tiny room. "Danke, MeinHerr Preußen," she murmured, averting her eyes.

"It there's one thing I can't abide, it's ingratitude," he grumbled. "Remember how fortunate you are to be a clerk instead of a scullery maid, and all will go well."

"Ja, MeinHerr. Danke," she added, averting her eyes. Prussia grew bored and sauntered out, calling over his shoulder, "You'll get those supplies tomorrow." Adeladja curtseyed after him, and then began sorting through the ledgers and papers in earnest.

It took several days with limited daylight to puzzle out the ledgers' narrative, but Adeladja managed it. She went over the ledgers for the past few months, checking numbers for amount of goods purchased and their cost. Something began to intrigue her as she reviewed the accounts. She assumed Berlin was an expensive city, but the price of staples such as flour, sugar, and yeast seemed too high, and the meats and produce were outlandish. She also noted that certain items like spices and imported fruits were ordered in large amounts at frequent intervals. Unless the Kaiser and his family were eating magnificent meals, there didn't need to be weekly orders of Spanish saffron or Madagascar vanilla beans, she thought.

She wrote to Feliks and Elena in Warsaw and Krakow, letting them know that she had settled in and was doing respectable work. She put her letters into the staff mail basket, and got an idea. She had not been out of the Stadtschlosse since she had first arrived and she needed to do some research. She prepared a list of common goods and asked one of the stewards about a street map.

The next day after her request, Prussia appeared at her office door. He was waving some envelopes and looked displeased. "Adeladja, you need to know a couple of things." He snapped the envelopes in her face and she recognized her handwriting. "First, you do not correspond with _anyone_ without my permission. If I grant you that, then I need to review your letters before they go out. You understand that, ja?" She nodded and curtseyed. "Second, what do you need a street map for? You don't leave the palace without my permission and certainly not without an escort." He stuck his sharp nose in her face, eyes hard and red like glass.

_At last, I can talk_, she thought. "I need to go on an expedition, MeinHerr Preußen," she said, "one that will help me with sorting out some problems I noted with the kitchen accounts."

He seemed intrigued. "Go on," he commanded, and she told him about the high prices and ridiculous amounts of staples and exotic goods. When she was done, he shrugged. "So what's the problem?"

"The problem, MeinHerr," she said, feeling triumph rise in her chest, "is that someone is taking advantage of their buying power for the kitchen. I believe that somebody is buying those spices and selling them on the sly. And as to the staples, they're inflating the amount of money requested so they can pocket the remainder."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're making a serious accusation about the kitchen staff's honesty, Fraulein."

She held her ground. "And that's why I need to go to the markets and suppliers, MeinHerr Preußen, to see if these expenses are the going rate or not. It would also help if I were to see a menu or plan for the week's meals. For all I know, the Kaiser demands saffron rice from India at every meal."

"The Kaiser is a good fellow with modest tastes!" Prussia snorted, "He wouldn't do anything so-." He stopped. "Someone's been ordering enough saffron and Indian rice for three meals a day?!"

It was now Adeladja's turn to smile mysteriously and shrug. "It seems that way, MeinHerr. A check of the cook's weekly plan, an expedition to the markets and suppliers—"

"A reconnaissance!" Prussia exclaimed. His eyes lit up and Adeladja liked how there was no malice in his mischievous smile. "We will peruse the lay of the land, spy on the enemy—"

"But we can't look like members of the Court or its staff," Adeladja said, nodding towards his uniform. Prussia looked down, then back at her, nodding.

"Reconaissance incognito, ja?" He smirked. "Brush off that frowsy dress and dress warmly, Fraulein," He commanded as he left the office, "tomorrow we go shopping!"

She was surprised at how quickly things could get done. The next morning, Prussia banged at the office door and shoved a copy of the planned meals for the week in her hand. Adeladja tried to review the several pages carefully, noting the different menus for different ranks of inhabitants, the variety of receptions and dinners and luncheons, but Prussia leaned against the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently."You should grab one of those baskets," he said, gesturing at the collection of kitchen objects, "So we complete our disguise." He was wearing an ordinary blue sack suit and tie, with a felt bowler hat pulled down over his startling hair. Adeladja had to get her own hat, shawl and gloves, and then they went out to the markets and suppliers she had identified from the ledgers.

It was a pleasure to be out on a mild November day, riding through the streets to the market halls that supplied the Imperial household. Adeladja's eyes were starved for variety and she peered through the carriage's windows at the buildings and streets filled with people, horses, and various vehicles. It was a crowded city, she realized, and none of the buildings looked more than two hundred years old. She was a much older city, she realized, with buildings that still survived from her time under the Teutonic Order.

She glanced at Prussia out of the corner of her eye. She remembered how he and his mortals came to her city in 1308 at her brother's request to fight forces from Brandenburg surrounding her. The Teutonic Knights arrived and defeated the Brandenburgers and decided to stay. They had searched for and captured the leading Polish knights and citizens, including priests and nuns from the convent where she had been raised.

She remembered how frightened she had been, hiding in a basket of turnip greens, as she heard cries from in and outside the convent walls. Time had stood still when she heard someone enter the convent kitchen and root about the tables and baskets. And that was when she first saw him, a dirty-faced boy her age in mail armor and a white tunic with a black cross, sword in one hand, loaf of bread in another. He was rooting about the baskets and she had pulled herself into a tighter ball under the greens, praying he would ignore her. But he must have heard her move, for he came to her basket, tipped it over and grabbed her, demanding her name in poor Latin. When she saw the white hair and flashing red eyes, she had been convinced he was a changeling child or a little demon, sign of the cross or not; everyone knew the devil could quote scripture, so why couldn't his minions wear the cross?

Adeladja had fought to get out of his grasp, even biting his hand. When he had yowled and boxed her ears, she assumed he was a regular boy; after all, a demon probably would have revealed his dark scaly winged form and eaten her. He had managed to subdue her and dragged her off to the town square, where she saw her leading mortals, the adults who had raised, protected, and governed her, surrounded by more Teutonic knights. When she had seen the coarse halters around their necks and the various expressions of resignation and dread on their faces, she had felt a cold chill rush up her spine. Something, she had realized, had gone terribly wrong.

The Teutonic Order had held her back as she watched her mortals marched to the tops of the walls and cast over the sides as casually as baited hooks thrown into the sea. She had wailed in terror as she had realized what her supposed saviors and brother's allies were doing. She had tried to break free, although she didn't even know what she could have done to save her people. But the white-haired boy had held her back and clapped a dirty hand over her mouth, his red eyes flashing like fire as he hissed in his poor Latin, "Be quiet. You are ours now."

And she was his again, she realized as she turned her gaze fully on him. Now the dirty, hungry boy was a well-dressed, muscular young man, obviously proud of what he had become. She couldn't blame him, she admitted, but if only it had not come at the expense of her brother and herself!

Prussia turned to look at her as the coach rattled to a stop in the Alexanderplatz. The same red eyes, sharp features, shock of white-blond hair under the hat: she startled a little. _I can't trust him_, Adeladja panicked. So what if his first deception had occurred five hundred years ago? He had broken the alliance he had made with Feliks in 1790, refusing to help him when Russia invaded in 1792. Why was she even helping him? Because she had to, she realized, because he owned her.

"_Wat_?" He said. "We're here, Adeladja. Time for our mission!" They walked among the market stalls, looking for the suppliers she had identified as the worst offenders. As she compared their asking prices for a fine establishment to what her records stated, her suspicions were confirmed. Not all were dishonest, but many were, and she could see how waste and fraud pervaded the kitchen accounts to an unsettling degree. If the Imperial kitchen had been a restaurant, she realized, it would have been operating at a terrific loss.

Adeladja looked at her list of purveyors. Only the major suppliers of baking goods were left to check, and they would need to go to another Berlin suburb for that. She was about to ask Prussia to get the carriage, when she saw the angry glare in his eyes. She paused.

"I think I've seen enough," he growled. He flashed his eyes at her. "These _Schweine_ are cheating their very king and emperor!" He clenched his fists and she prayed he wouldn't lose his temper and attack one of the mortal grocers. "I reformed my civil service, pride myself on its incorruptibility, and my ruler's family is being bilked under my nose." He pointed at her. "_You _are going to write up your findings and make two copies of your ledger and the report. I will show them to the head of the household staff, and go even further up! I want them for next week!"

Adeladja stared at him, amazed at his anger and deadline. "MeinHerr Preußen," she began, "I see how upset you are and I don't blame you, but we still have to check with the millers and—"

"Fine," he grumbled. "We'll go there, but _you_ will do the investigating. I'm going to stay in the carriage or I'll take to knocking heads." They went on their way, and Adeladja's suspicions were confirmed. When she returned to the carriage, she saw Prussia brooding.

"Mein Herr," she said gently, "I'm done now. I think I have enough material to present a compelling case for reforming the purchasing system of the Imperial—"

"Ja, whatever." He waved his hand impatiently. Adeladja was irritated. She understood his anger but didn't see why she should have to deal with it. The waste and fraud had been simmering all along, and it would have continued, if he had not assigned her the task of reviewing the kitchen accounts. But of course, she thought glumly, one always blames the messenger.

As if on cue, Prussia turned to look at her. "At least I am no longer ignorant of this corruption," he sighed. "No mortal ever brought it up before. And if one doesn't know something is wrong, one can't fix it, ja?" She nodded, relieved. To her surprise, he took her hand and squeezed it briefly. "Who knew it would take a Polish female to figure out what German male clerks couldn't or wouldn't point out?"

"Mortals would have either been afraid of revealing the truth or they would have benefited from the system," she replied. After all, no one had come offering her a bribe of money or even a new dress if she had kept her findings to herself. "I have a feeling there is quite a secret market in saffron, vanilla and Indian rice in Berlin!"

To her relief, Prussia smiled. "Ja, and if I could find the _Schweine_, I'd confiscate and eat the stuff before their very eyes. Speaking of eyes," he frowned, "you really look a sight today. Your dress is very shabby and stained; I could hear people murmuring behind us, trying to shame me for not dressing _meine Frau_ as well as myself."

Adeladja blushed; it hadn't occurred to her that they could have looked like a married couple doing their marketing. But then she remembered her abandoned trunk of dresses and necessities and pinched her lips. "I only have what I arrived in, MeinHerr," she said tartly. "I was told I would receive clothing appropriate to my station."

He looked at her as if for the first time. "Ja, I did say that, didn't I? Tomorrow, I'll send one of the household seamstresses to take your measurements for a dress. Something hard-wearing and practical."

"Danke, MeinHerr Preußen." Adeladja inclined her head as they rode back to the Stadtschlosse. She noted his pleased expression. It had not been a bad day, she realized, not a bad one at all

**I hope Prussia doesn't seem too far OOC. I figure he must have learned something about manners (the form, if not the reason why we have them) from Friedrich II or the awesomely lovely Queen Luise. Reviews help me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3 Her Reward

**Chapter 3 Her Reward**

True to his word, Prussia sent one of the Imperial family's dressmakers to measure Adeladja for a dress. Furthermore, he showed up a week later, looking for the two ledgers and reports she had prepared. Adeladja had finished the last words on the second copy just as he arrived. He tapped his foot, humming a march as she sprinkled sand on the page and then handed the ledgers and portfolios to him.

"We'll see what the head of the kitchen staff and the chief steward say about these," he said. He then cast down a collection of papers of various colors and sizes. "Now let's see if you can do the same for me as you have done for the kitchen!" Before she could say anything, he was gone, his boots ringing down the hallway.

Adeladja took her weekly bath that evening and shivered in her shift before the fire, trying to dry her hair. It had gotten colder and no amount of coal seemed enough to warm her little room. She had written a couple of letters to Feliks and Elena and had given them to Prussia; she wondered if they had reached Warsaw and Krakow yet. She had simply let them know that she was settled in Berlin, doing useful work and being treated decently by Prussia. She wrote nothing that she thought would delay the letters under the censors' eyes. She wondered if she could ask him for some yarn and knitting needles to make some fingerless mitts and stockings for herself. Her office was just as cold, if not more, than her bedroom.

Prussia didn't come to her office for several days, but a servant did bring her a box. When she opened it, she sighed in relief. The palace seamstress had created an attractive, tailored day dress of dark blue wool with red trim on the collar and cuffs. There was also a blouse, petticoats of flannel and cotton, and a new shift and drawers. She snuck back to her room and changed, pleased with the quality of the fabric and tailoring. When she returned to her office, she couldn't help gliding down the hallway to a mazurka in her head. She could finally send her old things to the palace laundresses, she would not look so shabby to the other staff members at meals, she—

"Well, look at you!" A familiar voice broke her reverie. She turned and saw Prussia smirking at her. No, she had to admit, he was actually _smiling_, without the mocking expression in his dark red eyes. He play-bowed to her and walked over to get the office door. "You look, _mein liebes Fräulein_, positively _Prussian_."1

Adeladja curtseyed and as she looked at her outfit, she realized he was right. The dark blue dress with red braid trim and her buff cotton blouse were like a female variation on the army uniform. She remembered what Feliks had said about Prussia trying to convince her she was actually German all along; she no longer felt proud, but as if she had been tricked into turning against her brother. Still, she couldn't afford to cast off the only new dress she had worn in over a month. "Danke, MeinHerr Preußen," she murmured with less enthusiasm than she had felt a minute ago.

"Kesesese, you'd make a very charming quartermaster! Or would that be quartermistress? If only your brother had put you in his army; he might have been better prepared for some of his battles!" They entered the office and he plunked down in her chair. He looked up at her, and the smirk returned to his face. "You've made some mortals _very _upset with your report and evidence, _Fraulein Łukasiewicz_." His tone was stern, despite his expression. "You see, several of the kitchen staff had a nice little racket going on, doing just what you thought they were. The head steward of the Imperial household _himself_ talked to the head of the kitchen, got the names of the culprits, and fired them. He is now looking for some honest replacements."

Adeladja smiled. She was glad to hear that her suspicions had been confirmed and that her hard work had brought about some positive change. She even wondered why he told her about the kitchen head's search for new purchasers and staff. She imagined herself in a cleaner , larger office, establishing relationships with mortal suppliers, negotiating prices and contracts; her smile grew broader. "And how would one go about applying for this position, MeinHerr?" she asked.

Prussia stared at her, puzzled; then he burst into raucous laughter. "Ach, Adeladja, you can't possibly imagine applying for such work! You're a female! You'd be the odd fellow out on the staff. Not to mention, those types of jobs are for mortals, who need to earn a living for themselves and their families." He saw her disappointed face and softened his tone. "Adeladja, you're very bright, honest, and diligent for a Pole and a female, but those types of jobs aren't for entities like us. For some poor mortal, that position would be the epitome of his existence, but for you," he shook his head, "it would be a demotion, ja?"

Adeladja sighed. He was right, but it also seemed hypocritical that the same nation had made her brother, once the lord of Eastern Europe, his stable hand and whipping boy. And here she was, a bookkeeper; granted, one that worked in the Imperial household, but a humble clerk, nonetheless. "You're right, MeinHerr Preußen," she admitted. "It might even be more fitting for me to perform these clerking services for my city and send you the reports so you can see how I and my mortals contribute loyally to the wellbeing of you and the Empire."

Prussia's eyes grew sly and he shook his head. "Ach nein, Fraulein, you're not going to break your word and go back to Danzig. You agreed to come here, to serve at my pleasure, and so you will. Besides, I want to tell you more good news." He fiddled with a piece of paper. "I took the liberty of informing the Chancellor and the Emperor themselves of the results and they were horrified at the fraud and pleased that it had been revealed and would be fixed. Wilhelm himself praised me, saying that a nation known for an honest civil service would now boast of an honest domestic one also! Even the Chancellor was impressed; he's a landowner himself and he told me he knows how important an honest staff is!" Prussia preened as he recalled his mortal rulers' compliments.

Adeladja stared at him, a flicker of anger growing within her. "Did you tell them _how_ you discovered the fraud and waste, MeinHerr?" She could control her voice, if not the shaking she felt in her legs.

"I told them I had help; after all, if they started quizzing me on the details and the numbers, I would have had a hard time answering. I'm not _that_ stupid." His voice tapered off.

"You had some _help_?" Adeladja recalled her hours and weeks of work, making sense of a disorganized pile, tracking trails of purchases, doing the arithmetic, and then copying out her numbers and report _twice_. "MeinHerr,did you at least name this help, acknowledge this _help_?" She bit the last word, barely keeping her voice controlled.

"You do _not_ speak to me like that, _Adeladja_." Prussia's tone turned sharp. He stood up and glared down at her. She glared back, angry and hurt at how her work had been discounted while he had basked in its glory. "I _did_ acknowledge that I had a fellow entity, one of _my _subjects who did the groundwork, but this modest entity wished to remain anonymous." She was about to blurt out that she wanted no such thing, that she wanted to meet the Emperor and Chancellor and be introduced as the one who had performed a valuable service, but Prussia pressed a finger to her lips. It smelled like tobacco, gunpowder, and soap. "Now before you say something you'll regret, _du stolz törichten Polin,_ you will listen carefully and hear why I did that."2 She breathed deeply through her nose, transfixed by his garnet eyes.

"Do you know anything about our Chancellor Bismarck, my _dear Pani Łukasiewicz?_3Do you know what he thinks of Poles? That they are no better than wolves, and like wolves, need to be shot, eliminated from the Empire. Now imagine if I had told him that the personification for the City of Danzig is Adeladja Łukasiewicz, sister of the personification of Poland, who was _supposed_ to have disappeared from Europe. Imagine how outraged Chancellor Bismarck would be to have a Polish entity representing a _German _city with a _German_ majority, in a _German_ province." He paused, and Adeladja breathed deeply; she was no longer angry, but frightened, almost as much as she had been when the Teutonic Order had destroyed her Polish leaders in 1308 or when Prussia and his sister had banged and leered at her door in 1793. "Do you know what the Chancellor can command me to do to you? Do you?" Adeladja meekly shook her head. Prussia continued. "He can order me to kill you, so we can clear the Polish presence from your city for good in order to make way for a German one's arrival! _Now _do you want to meet the Chancellor, _Liebchen? _Or would you prefer to toil under me in private, nice and safe and anonymous?"

Adeladja gulped. Prussia's finger pressed hard against her lips, as if he wanted to force it to her teeth. He waited, finally lightening the pressure. "I'm grateful that you have protected me," she whispered, blinking back tears. "It really is more appropriate for a female like me to avoid any form of notoriety, to work for a greater satisfaction than fame, anyway. I am happy to serve my kingdom and empire," she almost choked on the words, "in obscurity, MeinHerr Preußen."

"Gut." His voice and eyes were cold. "Now what do you say when someone has saved your life for the second time?"

"Dankeschön, MeinHerr Preußen." Adeladja swallowed her tears.

"It was my pleasure." Prussia turned from her as if she were as interesting as a piece of plain furniture. "Get back to work, Fraulein. I can't wait to see what you discover about _my _expenses."

She shut the door behind him and waited to hear his footsteps fade down the hall. Only then could she allow herself to cry hot tears of rage as she bore her steel-tipped pen into the pine desk, over and over.

**Yes, Bismarck actually said that Poles were like wolves. So why do you think Prussia is keeping Adeladja around when he can get praise from Bismarck and a cute little entity to raise (Prussia likes raising cute little entities)if he got rid of her? I'm grateful for the reviews and I hope to hear from you!**

1 German: my dear miss

2 German: you proud foolish Polish woman

3 Polish: Pani: female honorific title, like Madame or Lady or Mistress


	4. Chapter 4 His Reveries

**Chapter 4 His Reveries**

**Warning for description of sexual behavior and fantasies. Even if you normally avoid that, I still recommend skimming this chapter for what Gilbert's fantasies say about him and how he views Danzig. Oh, and if you have been wondering about Adeladja's appearance, this chapter gives you some detail.**

She was lovelier than he had remembered, Gilbert thinks. The current styles flattered her as much they did Hungary, but her figure was even more feminine and her posture more aristocratic than Elizabeta's. He recalls how she looked at the train station in Berlin. She didn't know that he had been watching her, poor civilian unused to surveillance. She had looked about, turning her long neck, blue-gray eyes wide with curiousity rather than alarm, a filly in a new paddock. Through his field glasses, he saw her rosy lips (he wondered if she painted) and her ivory cheeks flushing pink in the October air. The wind had ruffled her amber-colored hair, just as he had longed to do.

He had let her wait, watched her gloved hands begin to wring in concern. And then hehad revealed himself to her, and he was pleased to see her look of recognition shift to approval. Ja, he wasn't that scrawny boy she had bitten, nor was he her brother's downtrodden vassal anymore. He was a kingdom now, the greatest one in the German Empire, her lord and owner, and she no longer had anyone stepping in to keep him from her. And the best part, he laughs to himself as he swaggers down the hallway, was that the poor pretty fool had _initiated_ the correspondence that proposed the change to the agreement about her brother from the Congress of Vienna.

He recalls how Austria and Hungary had cornered him into an agreement that he would leave the personification of Danzig alone. He could have her port, her citizens, her imports and her taxes, but not her person. France and Poland (How did that loser Francis have so much say at the Congress?1 His _verdammt_ mortal Napoleon had been defeated for good!) had offered the arrangement of Feliks traveling from Warsaw to Krakow to Danzig in order to spare his sisters. Ivan and Roderich had agreed to it, and then they had presented it to him as a done deal. _Mein Gott_, he had been so angry! But he had kept his word, not least because Russia had hinted he would like a port on the Baltic coast and that was the threat the others had used to keep him in line. Besides, having Feliks under his thumb for several decades had given Gilbert many enjoyable moments of humiliating revenge for his former lord's arrogant, thoughtless treatment of him.

Gilbert has, if you will, a _scrapbook_ of mental images to amuse himself on nights such as these, when loose mortals have inflamed him, but not to the point where he could get past the death-rot of their enticing bodies. He staggers back from the officers' drinking party and collapses on his bed in the Stadtschlosse. He lazily unbuttons his uniform tunic and pulls open his shirt, tracing his fingers along his nipples. At times like these, he imagines the city of Danzig in any variety of postures and moods, but always available and fulfilling.

Today, for example, when he saw her dancing down the hallway. That was a charming sight, and he could imagine himself clasping her waist and guiding her around a dance floor, eventually coaxing her to a corner. He imagines her eager mouth meeting his, her hands rummaging in his breeches, even as he pushes her skirts up for greater access to her cozy little alley.

Then later, when she had looked so haughtily at him and he had had to scold her, that invited another, even more pleasing idea. In retrospect, he should have made her show a little more gratitude to him, he thinks as his hands stray to his trouser buttons. A curtsey and apology weren't enough; he should have forced her over that chair or on her knees, whatever would have given him greater pleasure and her greater humiliation. But he had let the moment go. Oh well, he reasons, as he fingers the growing bulge under his trouser fly, there would be plenty of time.

Once, he would have forced her on the first day, but he had learned from two mortals the pleasure of delayed gratification. There was Old Fritz, of course, that refined tease, but even his new boss had taught him the importance of the deep game and the well-played dramatic scene. He doesn't love Bismarck, of course—he would never love another mortal after Old Fritz—but he respects him and recognizes he could learn from him. And so he is willing to wait, to toy, to plot, and to stock his mind with fantasies that he knows will eventually come true.

Gilbert squeezes himself, feeling the heat and energy rise and stir within his lower body. He often imagines the City of Danzig at work in her dingy office, growing lonely and bored, turning to thoughts of him. He sees her tilting back in her chair, absently stroking her breasts and then her thighs, pulling up her skirts and petticoats. He smiles as he imagines her head lolling, panting slightly as her hands travel between her upper thighs. He feels himself twitch at the thought of her fingers probing within herself, stirring up her latent desire for him. "Preußen, MeinHerr Preußen," he hears her moan with just enough of an accent to be intriguing, and then he's there, pulling her towards him, undoing his fly as he is doing just now.

He imagines her awe as he lets loose his length (just as he is doing now) and strokes it before her. Sometimes he sees fear in her eyes, because she is a virgin and terrified of the pain he will cause her; other times, she licks her lips eagerly, taking him in her elegant hand (just as he is doing now), swirling her thumb around his tip, spreading the clear fluid. He sees her lean forward, place her pink lips around him and run her tongue around the sensitive glans and underside, causing him to jerk, just as he is doing now.

Other times, he pictures her growing uncomfortably warm (how in that cold office in early December, he doesn't know, but that is why it is a fantasy) and shedding her dress. That is just when he would enter, seeing her breasts bobble as she jumps at his sudden arrival. She's in her corset, shift and stockings, just like a brothel whore, but more embarrassed and alluring. She blushes and apologizes, but he imagines how quickly he silences her when he straddles her and releases his cock. Her embarrassment turns to wonder, especially as he lifts her legs up and places them on her shoulders. He licks his lips, starting to pump himself with his fist as he imagines entering her, hearing her squeals and pants as he thrust his hips into her (just as he's doing now). She'd be tight and wet (he pauses to spit in his hand and goes back to gripping himself), because deep down inside, she wants him, even though she may act so haughty and proud towards him in public.

Sometimes, she fights back, pummeling uselessly with her fists and crying _how dare he_! as he shoves her down onto the table in the office, cuffing her as she snarls at him. Then her pride turns to hurt and she cries; he bares his teeth, grinning at the image as he pumps harder into his fist. His abdominal muscles coil, gathering themselves for the final spring. He slows down, pulling out the time, so he can enjoy himself more. Danzig is no longer so regal and composed in his mind. Her cool blue eyes are wide with fear, her pale skin red from shame and slaps and shiny from tears, her amber hair cast out of its coils. He imagines her begging for mercy, promising to be good, to do whatever he wants. Gilbert runs his tongue along his teeth, imagining the taste of her tears on his tongue, _her_ tongue running along his cock head as she fondles his _Eier_, just like he's doing now.2 He lets a moan loose, imagining hers in reply.

His thigh and buttock muscles tighten as his hips rise higher. Now he sees her on top of him, the little wanton forgetting her dignity, her _Brüste _bouncing as she rides him.3 She really is a little _Schlampe_, a beast under that cool, calm exterior; he can tell from the flashes in her eyes when she is angry or offended. Blue-gray eyes like the Baltic sea, a slender ivory neck begging to be bruised with bites, creamy, pink-tipped globes, red moist tongue, mouth—

He groans a volley of obscenities as he quivers and spurts of semen hit his stomach and chest. Pleasure shudders through his body, reminders of the great burst just seconds before. He blinks and lazily grabs a handkerchief to wipe himself off. At this point, Danzig often conveniently disappears, but tonight he imagines her obediently cleaning him up with her tongue, a devoted, doting odalisque, her thick long hair brushing his skin. He would reward her, he decides, with praise and caresses, and she would curl her warm, soft body against him in gratitude.

Let Austria keep Hungary, he thinks. Gilbert remembers how she had supported the arrogant Roderich as he dictated the terms of the Polish agreement, how stunned and betrayed he had felt. It had felt _good_ to remind Elizabeta that Austria was a gentleman, and _everyone_ knows gentlemen don't marry their whores. And then he did just that in 1867 and they had had the _verdammt_ nerve to invite him to the wedding. He had sent Ludwig with a punch bowl and the most formal, lukewarm message of congratulations he could compose. He hopes both of them are miserable, disappointed with the realization of whom they have really married: A wild, high-spirited hoyden yoked to a cold, formal aesthete. Stupid Austria, thinking he could turn his whore into a lady. Well, Gilbert would go one better: he would turn one of Poland's royal sisters, a wealthy, refined lady into _his_ panting, eager whore. Kesesese, he whickers as he drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, he strolls down the hallway of humble clerks, imagining his lovely girl in some posture of erotic abandon, ripe for the taking. His stomach flutters as he raps at the door and pushes it open. And he sees a serious young woman in a Prussian-blue dress looking up from her desk, as her ink-stained fingers tuck a strand of amber hair behind her shell-pink ear. Her inscrutable blue-gray eyes meet his, a polite smile on her thin lips.

**So what do you think of Gilbert's fantasies? Does he really see the Adeladja we see or something else? How do you think that's going to play out between the two of them? I love reading and responding to reviews—they make me happy!**

1 The Congress of Vienna was a meeting of ambassadors from European nations from 1814 to 1815 in Vienna. They met to redraw the map of Europe and try to stabilize the balance of power left in the aftermath of the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire and the end of the Napoloeonic Wars. In my headcanon, this is where little Ludwig is named the German Confederation, Prussia and Austria get joint custody of him, and of course, where Feliks proposes spending equal time amongst the three partition powers in order to spare his sisters Krakow and Danzig the brunt of partition.

2 German: literally, eggs. Slang, testicles, balls.

3 German: Breasts, boobs


	5. Chapter 5 His Confession

**Chapter 5 His Confession**

**Danzig learns some interesting things about her childhood friends. We learn some history. And Prussia is kind of-well, you have to read it.**

Adeladja rubbed her eyes and took another sip of tea. Prussia's personal finances weren't as tricky as the Stadtschlosse's kitchen accounts, but they were time-consuming. She had sorted through the mess of bills and receipts and created some kind of chronological order out of them. She had requested and received a blank ledger and painstakingly filled in the amounts paid and still due to the recipients. She had noted discrepancies in amounts and interest that had accumulated, as well as cost-saving measures. All in all, she realized, Prussia was rather careless with his money when he could manage it better and still live well.

The doorknob smacked against the wall and startled her. "So how is the most beautiful clerk in the German Empire?" Prussia sauntered into her little office, mouth full of pastry. He stood over her, crumbs falling onto her shoulder. "Are you working the same magic on my accounts as the kitchen's?"

"It's not magic," Adeladja replied as she pointedly flicked the crumbs off in his direction. He ignored her and took another bite of _makowiec._1"It's attention to detail and knowing how much is coming in, how much is going out and where it is going." Her mouth was watering at the familiar sight and smell of poppy seed roll, but she didn't want him to sense that.

"Show me what you've found," He asked, and she did, pointing out his monthly allowance, which debts he needed to pay off first, which bills could be paid in full, and her suggestions for spending his money more prudently. When he began sneezing and looking about the other papers on her desk, she stopped.

"Well, go on!" He said, licking his fingers of the last crumbs of _makowiec_.

"Mein Herr, I stopped because I am concerned about your sneezing; I didn't think my little office was that dusty." Adeladja turned so he couldn't see her smile; she had figured out that his sneezes meant he was bored or disinterested. She was not going to waste her time and breath advising him if he weren't paying attention.

"Well, it is," he retorted. "Give me the book so I can look it over later." She slapped it shut and handed it to him. He tucked it under his arm and nodded his head. "_Danke_, Fraulein Łukasiewicz." He paused, and then put the ledger back on her desk. "You deserve a reward today," he said. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

It was a nice day to be outside, Adeladja thought as they strolled through the _Lustgarten_. It was chilly but the sun was out, and it felt good to move after sitting for hours. Mortals were clustering about the pathways and heading towards the _Altes Museum. _Adeladja looked longingly at the neoclassical building, wondering what kind of art or antiquities were housed there.

"Would you like to go inside?" Prussia asked and she nodded. They walked up the steps, past the flanking statues of the warrior spearing a lion and the Amazon warding off a panther, and into a hallway flanked by two staircases. "Come see this," Prussia said, leading her past the stairs and into a grand rotunda. She was impressed; she had seen pictures of the Pantheon in Rome and its copy in Paris, but she had never been in such a structure before. She craned her neck upward, studying the recessed coffers that played with the sunlight streaming through the skylight.

"What do you think?" Prussia nudged her and she breathed, "It's marvelous." They walked through the galleries, admiring the art on display; Adeladja realized that she had been starved for color and movement as she studied the paintings that the Prussian royal family had collected over the years. She appreciated that Prussia did not rush her through the galleries, even though she was certain he had seen the paintings numerous times. Instead, she felt as if he were studying her and she was uncertain what she wanted him to see. Appreciation and gratitude, yes, but she didn't want to appear groveling.

"I want to ask you something that has bothered me all these decades," Prussia said as they walked by the murals by Schinkel and up the staircase to the second floor. She turned to look at him; he looked friendly enough, she guessed. "In 1795, the Third Partition, I got Warsaw, and technically, Feliks came under my control.2 My ruler, as well as Austria's and Russia's, all agreed to sign a document dissolving the Kingdom of Poland. You know what that meant we could do to him, ja?" Adeladja nodded, feeling her stomach clench and cold prickle her face. " And yet," he said as they came to the head of the stairs, "Neither I nor Roderich nor Ivan could find your brother to finish him off**. **How did Feliks survive?"

Adeladja froze, staring at him. Feliks might be under Russia's thumb now, but she still feared to tell anyone about how her brother had survived the partitions and dissolution of his state_. She_ didn't even know the whole truth. Prussia watched her, a little smirk playing on his lips. "He did what so many of his mortals did," she replied. "He went into exile. There were nations willing to take him in, even if only for a little while. France was the kindest, of course."

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "But an entity cut off from his or her place too long eventually fades and dies or must get back to restore their health. So why didn't your brother die in Francis Bonnefoy's loving arms?" He smirked again and Adeladja decided to ignore the insult.

"I honestly don't know, Mein Herr," she replied. "He must have crept back in to one of his former territories and stayed for awhile. He said that as long as he could touch the earth and see his people, he could stay alive." She remembered the little bag Feliks wore on a simple chain around his neck; she turned to study the fresco's detail and to hide her realization about its contents. "His people were scattered around Europe, so any time he could see and talk to them, touch them, he could keep going."

"Really?" Prussia's voice was a mixture of disbelief and something softer: wistfulness, envy? She turned to him with a composed face.

"Ja," she said. "His people love him and want him to stay alive, despite what others want." Suddenly she felt a rush of love and admiration surge for her brother. She had always thought he was high-handed and frivolous, a delicate boy who admired extravagant clothes, well-bred horses, and splendid entertainments. But when he had been stripped of all his luxuries and his very existence, he had astonished her by surviving, learning to hide and forage, consorting with peasants as well as exiled politicians and intellectuals. He had grown tougher, craftier, and more appreciative of all his people. She was so proud of him, she could feel tears rising as she pictured how he had managed over the decades.

"So," Prussia mused, "as long as one Pole walks the earth, Feliks Łukasiewicz lives."

Adeladja shrugged and fiddled with her glove buttons; _they are everywhere, beyond your grasp. Even across the Atlantic_, she smiled to herself.

"And you, Adeladja?" Prussia's voice had returned to its teasing note. "How did you manage to evade me for thirteen years?" He stepped closer to her. "My sister Maria and I had very good intelligence on where you were hiding, but when we went through the house, you were nowhere to be found." He smiled at her. "You can tell me now."

Adeladja paused. She didn't want to give him specific places and names; the descendants of the various Danzigers who had hidden her in their cellars, attics, and warehouses over that terrible stretch of time still lived in the city and she wanted no repercussions for them. "I'm like Feliks," she finally replied. "My people took care of me." She thought of the various disguises she had taken on, the different neighborhoods and conditions of life in which she had found herself.

"For thirteen years. And no one ever betrayed you." She turned to look at him and saw he wasn't smirking. He looked thoughtful. "Why do you think that happened?"

Adeladja shrugged. "They were, _are_, proud of being Danzigers, of their history and position. I represented them. If I had been captured, it would have been a greater sign of defeat than anything else." A thought came to her. "If you _had_ found me, what would have happened? What would you have done?"

Prussia pursed his lips and studied the museum floor. "Well," he said slowly, "it was a good thing that we got you in 1793. My King then was not too interested in destroying Poland. Now 1772 might have been a different matter…." He trailed off.

"Why?"

"1772, Friedrich der Groß was alive. He hated Poles and he wanted them gone, both mortals and entities." He glanced up at her. "If we had gotten your brother then, things would have been very different."

"And me?" Adeladja felt her stomach fluttering again.

Prussia returned to studying the floor. "I would have argued for your existence. After all, you had a strong German presence, a lot of connections and knowledge. You are cosmopolitan, which he admired." He looked up and smiled briefly. "And you're not your brother."

They walked about the second floor, looking at the paintings and sculpture. Adeladja began to feel slightly shaky; it had been hours since she had eaten any food. "Mein Herr," she said, "this has been delightful, but I think I need something to eat. Do you think we could have some coffee and cake somewhere?"

He looked at her and nodded. "Ja. We can find a coffeehouse off the the _Lustgarten._" They left the museum, walked along the pathways and found an elegant coffee house styled after the ones in Vienna. Adeladja was grateful to have a cup of tea and a slice of buttery cake.

"This has been nice, hasn't it?" Prussia said as they left the coffeehouse. She agreed; he had been pleasant and not too pressing in his questions. She was glad to get out of the dark, antiquated atmosphere of the _Stadtschlosse_. As the sugar and caffeine circulated throughout her body, a question came to mind.

"You mentioned that in 1772, Friedrich der Groß wanted Polish entities gone," she said slowly. "That was the year you got the city of Elbing." He looked back at her and she could see a flicker of alarm in his red-violet eyes. "What happened to _her?"_

He didn't answer; he suddenly found the statues on the Palace Bridge to be fascinating. Adeladja's stomach tightened. "I never saw nor heard from her after 1772. And Thorn? You claimed her in 1793. What about her?"

He wouldn't look at her. Adeladja started to realize what had happened to her two friends who had been part of the Prussian Confederation3. "_Mój Bój,"_ she breathed, "Did you—do away-with them?"4

"Adeladja, please, not in public." Prussia's voice sounded far away; there was a rushing sound in her ears. Suddenly the delicious cake in her stomach felt like a disgusting weight. She stared at him, horrified.

"They were civilians, females. And you murdered them." She could barely speak. She spun about and began to walk away from him. "You were going to do the same to me in 1793!"

"Adeladja, you're making a scene." Prussia grabbed her hand. "Control yourself." She shook her head and tried to break his grip, but he was too strong. "Adeladja, take a deep breath and I'll explain everything to you." She began to shake.

She tried to break free again; she didn't know where she would go, but she needed to get away from him. He grabbed her around the waist, and she began to kick. When she tried to scream, he clapped a hand on her mouth. "Adeladja, listen to me," he whispered in her ear. "I am _not _going to hurt you. You _have _ to listen to me. I can't tell you what happened if you go running around like a terrified horse. Take a deep breath."

She breathed through her nose and after a bit, she began to feel calmer. Good, she thought, now she could think and plan a better escape. Prussia led her to a bench and they sat down. She was shivering, not from the increasing cold of the late afternoon, but the realization she was listening to her friends' murderer.

"Adeladja, I did nothing to Thorn. She was gone before I found her."

"So she escaped?" When Adeladja saw Prussia refused to look at her, she felt sick all over again.

"In a way," he whispered. "Laudanum overdose." He clenched his hand around hers. "She must have made arrangements beforehand."

A numbness crept over Adeladja's body. She began to feel very heavy and she didn't think she could move even if she wanted to. "Why would she want to do that?" She murmured. She turned to look at him. "What happened in 1772 to make her want to take laudanum in 1793?" Her eyes filled with tears.

"Elbing happened," Prussia whispered. "I had orders and I followed them."

Adeladja rested her head in her free hand. She felt as if she were going to be sick. She wanted to flee, but her legs felt as if they had turned to stone. She thought of Elbing, how bold and quick-tongued she was; she wondered if she had argued, fought, suffered. "Ja, orders," she finally said. "How convenient."

"I didn't enjoy it," Prussia growled. "But my King, my _favorite_ King told me what to do and I would not disobey him."

"Nein, why let decency and compassion get in the way of _orders_?" She braced herself, expecting him to slap her. But he gripped her wrist more tightly and he refused to meet her eyes.

"I _was _decent and compassionate," he finally said. "It was quick, dignified and painless. We buried her under her human name in the churchyard."

Adeladja stared at him, unable to understand how he could see his behavior as commendable. "You killed a female civilian in cold blood. You mur—"

"Political execution!" He finally glared at her. "Friedrich der Groß wanted her and any other Polish entity who came under our control dead! I followed my orders. I didn't like it, but I did it."

"And you would have done it to me." She finally forced herself to stand up and tried to break away, but he yanked at her hand and forced her to sit down. "If your _favorite king_ had told you to murder me, you would have done it!"

"Nein, I told you, I would have argued for your existence. I would have cited your German majority, your history and trade connections!" Prussia grabbed both her hands. "We needed a port on the Baltic Sea, and if you were gone, we would have had to wait years for an entity to show up and to raise and educate; it would have taken too long and we couldn't afford the time. You wouldn't have been happy, but you would have been alive. I'm telling you the truth, Adeladja."

_As if I'm happy now,_ Adeladja thought. She sighed, bowed her head and studied Prussia's black-gloved hands clasping her own. "So in 1793, you didn't have orders to kill me. What were you planning instead?"

"We would have captured you, made you know your place. I had promised Maria that she could have you as a toad-eater, a lady's companion. She had all these ingenious ways planned to torment you: laundering her shifts and stockings, grooming her snappy little dogs, getting quizzed on Kant and never getting the answers right so she could box your ears. Reading _Sir Charles Grandison _out loud in the original English."5 He shrugged. "You wouldn't have liked it, but you would have been alive."

_Made you know your place_. Adeladja had an idea that that meant something other than getting insulted and shoved about by Prussia and his sister. But he was speaking the truth about one thing: she would have been alive. Thorn might have been alive also, if she had not feared the worst. Poor Thorn, so sweet-natured and nervous; she must have been terrified of what awaited her if she had been willing to get a bottle of laudanum. Adeladja wondered if her final dreams had been peaceful ones. She thought back to Elbing and wondered what her friend had thought and felt in her final moments, confronted by an enemy, no last rites…

She began to weep. Prussia still gripped her hands, so she shook her head uselessly as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to be alone so she could let loose the moan that built up in her throat. Instead she grimaced, a silent version of her grief.

"Adeladja, why are you crying? You were spared!" Prussia sounded confused. _What a heartless idiot he is_, she thought. He let go of one hand so she could wipe her tears.

"My friends are dead," she whispered, "and I didn't know. How terrible it must have been for them—" she sobbed harder. How terrible to die alone, without any friends or comfort, to know that your death meant the end of something for your mortals. That responsibility kept entities like her brother alive through the worst times, and yet poor Thorn saw no hope, and Elbing had her hope taken from her.

"_Ruhe,"_ Prussia whispered.6 She felt his arm around her shoulder. Her friends' murderer was touching her and she wanted to bolt up and run but she was so drained. And his arm felt good: warm, strong and comforting. She sobbed harder at her weakness.

"You weep for them," he said, and she nodded. "Adeladja, I'm not proud of what I did. I made it quick and painless, but I didn't like it." She felt his gloved thumb gently brush the tears under her eyes and she covered her face and wept.

"Adeladja, look at me." He whispered, and she shook her head; she couldn't bear it. He repeated and she refused, until he finally removed her hands and peered at her. She glared at his red-violet eyes and was surprised to see they were unnaturally bright and shimmering. Ruthless, cruel Prussia, her brother's enemy and her friends' murderer, was _tearing up._

"Adeladja, forgive me for what I did." He said. She just looked at him, feeling as if all her ability to judge and decide had drained out of her.

"I've just found out—"

He nodded, a little too eagerly. "Ja, you need time." He took out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She gratefully blew her nose. "But please forgive me."

"I need to do something for them," she mumbled, trying to think of what could be done. Mourning and prayers, of course, trips to their cities, flowers; surely he would agree to that.

"Of course," he said. He took her hand again. " Adeladja, pray for the dead if you must, but you should also thank God that _you_ are alive. _You_ were spared. _Your _ mortals risked everything, their very lives, to keep you safe. And you are here, a very valuable part of the Empire." She looked at him; he was smiling hopefully at her. "Reflect on that, not just a past you can't change."

She was tired. She wanted to go back to the palace and her room where she could sob in peace. Prussia stood up and offered her his arm. She took it, and his handkerchief, and they slowly walked back to the Stadtschlosse and her lodgings, where he left her to her grief.

* * *

He was astounded at himself. He had not meant to tell her so much, but the stroll through the museum and his own questions had opened something up in both of them. He definitely knew it had done something to him, to let slip Old Fritz's plans for the Polish entities and how he had carried them out. _I shouldn't have told her that_, he thought. Maybe it was the coffee that had loosened his lips, or maybe it was the way she had looked at him or answered his questions.

He expected her to be upset and suspicious, to worry about how these things would affect her. She was like her brother in that respect. But when she began to weep for her dead friends, to feel compassion for them , he was surprised. It had made tears come to his eyes and he didn't know what to feel about that. His first reaction was that he had been tricked into showing weakness, but the more he thought about it, the better he felt. He had felt tenderness and pity towards her and he actually could feel remorse for his past actions surge up. It was uncomfortable but it was supposed to be. _I can still feel_, he realized. That was why he had asked forgiveness and hoped she would grant it. He had wanted to comfort her, but she had hesitated. That was understandable, given the circumstances. Let her have her time to mourn, he decided. And he would plan his next move.

**So what do you think about Prussia here? And Danzig's reaction to his news? I like hearing from you. And by the way, if you're digging this story and you know anyone whom you think would like this, please let them know about it!**

1 Polish pastry; a sweet yeast cake with a poppy seed filling. Usually shaped like a jelly roll.

2 When Prussia was defeated by France in 1806, part of the Treaty of Tilsit established the Duchy of Warsaw as a client state of Napoleon. Later, after the Congress of Vienna, Warsaw became the capital of Congress Poland, which came under Russian rule.

3 The Prussian Confederation was formed by Polish nobles, clergy and several cities in 1440 to protest the arbitrary rule of the Teutonic Order. Danzig, (Gdańsk), Thorn (Toruń) and Elbing (Elbląg) were the three leading cities of the Confederation that eventually led to the Thirteen Years' War(1454-1466) against the Teutonic Order and the Second Treaty of Thorn, when the Teutonic Order lost control of Royal Prussia, which became part of Poland. Ducal Prussia was held in fief by the Teutonic Order to the Kingdom of Poland; it later became the Duchy of Prussia. In other words, an adolescent Adeladja and her friends got tired of being bossed around by Gilbert and fought back, with her brother Feliks's help. Gilbert got beat up by girls!

4 Polish: My God

5 An incredibly long eighteenth-century British novel by my favorite author, Samuel Richardson. It's about 1500 pages long.

6 German: Quiet, steady


	6. Chapter 6 His Proposal

**Chapter 6 His Proposal**

**Prussia makes a move!**

It had been a week since the museum. A mortal had dropped off the kitchen accounts from the Kaiser's summer palace at Potsdam, with instructions to review for waste and fraud, and to write a proposal for better management of expenses. Adeladja trudged through it, recognizing it for the busy work it was.

The first three nights she had cried herself to sleep. Her friends were gone, and she had known nothing about it until he had told her. She had assumed that there had been censorship and confiscation of letters, even house arrests; after all, she, Elbing and Thorn had been the leading cities of the Prussian Confederation that had rebelled against the Teutonic Order. Of course, the Partition Powers would want to keep them from contacting each other. But to know they were silent because they were dead disturbed her. Dissolution had not seemed real until Austria, Russia and Prussia had written their statement about the Kingdom of Poland, and even then Feliks had evaded them. But it was real; an entity could die, she realized.

_You were spared_, Prussia had told her. He claimed he was sparing her now from the Chancellor by keeping her existence in the _Stadtschlosse_ a secret. Yet if he could defy his favorite king's command, couldn't he defy a mere chancellor? Maybe he was just lying to her, making himself sound nobler than he really was, she thought wearily. But she had seen the tears in his eyes, heard the urgency in his voice, and she didn't think he could summon those on command. Adeladja rubbed her temples and forced herself to review numbers.

By the fifth day, she had managed to put her grief to the back of her mind. Her friends were gone, they weren't coming back, and she had to make do with what she had. _You were spared_, she reminded herself, although she didn't know for what purpose. It should be something more meaningful than keeping accounts in Berlin, she thought bitterly. She could go back home and do the same thing for her city and region, and that should please Prussia. He wants something else, she realized as she prepared for bed. She thought of the possibilities and she didn't like any of them.

When he swaggered in for the first time in ten days, Adeladja studied him out of the corner of her eyes. Prussia announced he was here to collect the Potsdam ledger and she slid it over to him. Again, it always amused her to see him flip through the pages, acting as if the numbers made sense to him.

"Excellent work, as always," he said briskly. He then rained down bills and receipts on her desk. "These are my personal expenses from the past week. You can look through them and put them in the ledger."

"Of course, Mein Herr," she replied. She put them in the pigeonhole she reserved for his papers and went back to tidying up her desk. Prussia cleared his throat.

"Aren't you going to do them now? At least look through them?" He leaned against the desk, facing her.

Adeladja decided to stand up; she was uncomfortable sitting with her head near his hips. "I will gladly do so after I've had some tea," she said. She tried to head over to the table where she kept a little kerosene-fueled hot plate for a tea kettle, but he blocked her path.

"Look over the receipts, Adeladja." He was smiling but his voice was firm. She looked through them and noted two receipts from a florist in Berlin. Each was for a bouquet of flowers, one to a church in Elbing and one to a church in Thorn. Of course, she thought, he could not do a good deed unnoticed. She looked up, smiled, and said softly, "A good use of your money, MeinHerr."

He shrugged, but she noted his skin pinking up with pride. "May I make you a cup of tea, MeinHerr?" She asked, sidling past him to the table.

"Nein, I'm a coffee drinker now." He followed her over to the table where she poured some water from a carafe. She could feel a dense wave of heat rolling off his body towards her. _Is he feverish_? She thought. She looked at him and saw that he didn't look flushed or glassy-eyed like an ill person. He looked like his usual smirking self.

"Speaking of tea and coffee, let's get out of this dismal little room and have a real break. We'll go to one of the smaller reception rooms and get some sent up." He offered her his arm and Adeladja took it. A change of scenery sounded nice.

She followed him up the stairs to one of the rooms that looked out onto a square divided into a geometric pattern of walkways. "This is better, isn't it?" Prussia said as a servant brought in tea, coffee, and pastries. Adeladja had to admit that it was. She sipped her tea and admired the ornate baroque wall and ceiling carvings. She realized how much she needed to see something other than plain wood walls, paper, and numbers, and she tried to figure out the meaning of the allegorical figures. Then Prussia sneezed and she turned to look at him.

"Have you thought about what I told you last week?" He looked earnestly at her.

Adeladja studied her tea cup. "Ja, I did," she whispered.

"And?" when she looked up at him, she noted how his brows curved worriedly.

"You're right, Mein Herr," she finally said. "We pray for the dead, thank God for our survival, and forgive those who ask for forgiveness."

He nodded, pleased. "That's how one manages to get through things." He put down his cup and got up to saunter around the room. Adeladja sat back and studied the view outside the window. Some mortals milled about in the late fall afternoon under the overcast sky. It will get very cold soon, she thought, and snow will fall. She wondered about Christmas and if she would be allowed to send packages to Feliks and Elena.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw that Prussia was standing behind her, grinning down at her. She tensed, and he squeezed her shoulder.

"Relax, Adeladja! I've got good news for you."

She shifted and turned to look at him. "What is it, Mein Herr?"

"I'm offering you a promotion. No more dark dusty office."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You told me the civil service was for mortals only, Mein Herr, _and_ that no one would believe a mere woman could be capable of such careful recordkeeping." She enjoyed seeing him blush as she threw his words back at him. "So would I be handling your personal accounts or the German Empire's?" She felt a little bold hope rise in her breast. "Would you allow me to go back to my city and keep accounts and report them back to you?"

"Pffft! That's not a promotion! This is much better." He put his other hand on her other shoulder and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Come, I want to show you something." He helped her out of her chair and led her to the tall windows. "Look," he said.

She saw a well-dressed woman in furs and a tall man with an impressive beard laughing and bending down to pet a small furry fox-like dog. The more they laughed and talked nonsense to it, the happier it seemed; it spun in circles, then stopped and yipped eagerly at them. It sat up on its haunches and waved its front paws eagerly at the smiling man. He stooped down to rub its ears and the dog wriggled in delight. Then he and the lady started to walk along the path and the little dog trotted behind them.

"See how much mortals love their pets?" Prussia said. He was standing behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her ears. "See how happy that little dog is, how eager to do its tricks for their attention and how much delight and pleasure it gives its masters?" His voice sounded soft, as if he were in his own dream. "See how kind and doting they are when that little rascal pleases them?" His arm slid gently around her waist and his sharp chin rested on her shoulder. She tried to pull away, but he drew her more closely to him. Despite his warm body, she felt cold, and not just from the late fall air coming through the windows.

"Adeladja, you are too beautiful and refined to hide in a clerk's office," he whispered. "And at the museum, when I saw how loyal, loving and compassionate you were, I knew you had more to offer than a talent for numbers. I'm offering you a position where you may shine in private and public life. Pretty clothes, jewelry, music, outings, pleasure: you'd get all that, just for giving pleasure in return."

A chill ran up Adeladja's spine. She craned her neck to look up at him. "This doesn't sound like a marriage proposal, Mein Herr."

He smirked. "It's not! The only nation getting married around here would be the German Empire and that would be to another nation or empire. No use wasting him on one of his own states or cities when there are international alliances to be made. Nein, this is much nicer." His lips rested upon the sensitive spot behind her ear. "A little understanding just between the two of us."

She jerked her head away. "You want me to be your mistress?!"

"I don't like that term," he whispered, hands running up and down her corseted waist. "I don't like its implications. I prefer _playmate, Freundin, Nebenfrau, Haustrier, Betthäschen…." _His lips traveled to her cheek.1

Adeladja pulled away and raised a hand to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist. "Mein Herr, I can't." Her heart beat so hard, she feared she was going to collapse. She struggled to get loose, but he gripped her to him. "I can't be your whore!"

"You wouldn't be my whore," he replied. "Whores only do their tricks for money." He spun her to face him, his red-violet eyes glittering with excitement. "Now, a pet serves and loves its master wholeheartedly with no self-interest. It fears its master's wrath and longs for his caresses. And in return, the master keeps it safe and lavishes it with treats and affection." He smiled at her. "You'd be _mein liebes kleines Haustier_2."

Adeladja stared at him, appalled. "How can you possibly say this after what you told me last week?" She whispered.

Now he looked puzzled. "But you just said that you forgave me!"

"Ja, but that doesn't mean I have forgotten what you have done," she said. "You are my brother's enemy and my friends' murderer." She looked at his hand around her wrist and shuddered. "You have blood on your hands."

Prussia narrowed his eyes. "We all do," he hissed, "even that piano-diddling aristocrat _Österreich_ and your precious brother. At least I apologized for what I did. How sorry does your brother feel for all his wars and rebellions?"

Adeladja shook her head and tried to break free of his grasp. "I can't do this," she said. "I'm not an animal with no memory, I can't be bought—"

"I already own you, Danzig," His voice was now crisp and cold. "But you can either be a cherished pet or beast of burden. It's up to you."

She glared back and shrugged. "I'll do your books. I'm not afraid of the work."

He began laughing. "You don't get to return to your mouse hole, _Frauleinchen_.3 You're getting demoted if you don't know what's good for you."

"I'll scrub chamber pots before I become your whore!" Adeladja snapped. If Feliks had suffered hard labor and indignities for decades, she could do the same, she figured. She kicked at his shins and he slammed her face-first against the cold glass.

_Mój Bój, I've made a terrible mistake,_ she panicked. He was going to take what he wanted in full view of any mortals passing along the walkway. She squirmed and twisted, but he pressed her harder against the window.

Prussia exhaled and tightened his hold on the back of her neck. "Let's try it again, Adeladja. Pampered pet or beast of burden?"

She gathered her breath and stared across the palace square. She had forced him to show his hand; he was only willing to go so far. She could do this. "Work."

"That wasn't an option. Pet or beast?"

"Work."

"Fine, _Idiot." _ He grabbed her by her high collar and led her out the hall. He stalked down the hallways and stairways, barely allowing Adeladja to put her feet down. She caught glimpses of them as they passed by mirrors; her hair was falling out of its rolls and she was having difficulty catching her breath. Herr Prussia looked grim, his fine features set with rage.

They reached the main floor, where Prussia whistled to the guards. "I need a couple of you to escort this _creature_ out of the Palace, to the Hamburg station and onto the next train to the Grand Duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin."

"But my things!" Adeladja cried. Prussia shook her. "_Halt die Klappe_, you!" He barked. The soldiers flanked her as he gave a lieutenant more detailed instructions.

"You can't do this to me!" She called over her shoulder as the soldiers marched her out the door. "This wasn't why I came to Berlin!"

Her last glimpse of Prussia was his smirk as he shrugged. "Too late now, _Mädchen!"_

**Okay, I'm a little anxious about this. Is Prussia getting out of character, being too subtle and mild? Is Adeladja being too fussy in turning down his offer? This is after all the 1870s, but personifications have lived through cruder times. What do you think?**

1 German: girlfriend, concubine, pet, "bedbunny" (the latter is probably anachronistic, but I like it).

2 German: my darling little pet

3 German: missy


	7. Chapter 7 Her Exile

**Chapter 7 Her Exile**

Cold. All Adeladja ever felt was cold. Cold in the drafty cottage where she slept with a resentful peasant family. Cold in the dairy so as not to spoil the precious milk. Cold when she walked to the milking barn at the rise of a gray dawn and cold in the overwhelming night when she returned to the barn, dragging bales of hay for feeding the cows. The only warmth was in the barn, surrounded by the shaggy cattle, their humid breath and their sulphurous-smelling dung.

She banged the handles of pitchforks against the ice in buckets, and her hands cracked and bled from the cold and the rough hay. Her day dress was worn and smeared with mud and cowshit and her sweat and blood. She could fit into it without her corset now, because the potatoes, broth and weak beer she ate were not enough to fuel her body for all the labor. Her hair hung limply under a kerchief she salvaged from a ruined petticoat.

March was the worst time on a farm in Mecklenburg. People were sick of the cold, their winter stores were running low, and the marshy land was exhausting, even dangerous, to travel through. Adeladja had always imagined farm life as golden; golden sunlight, golden fields of wheat or rye, thatch roofs and whitewashed farmhouses. This was brown and grey, with drifts of dirty snow, and a wan, perpetually cloudy sky. The mortals were suspicious of her and their dialect confused her. Since she had come after the harvest, the peasants saw her as a freeloader, gobbling up the food she had not helped to bring in. She was used to the women and children making signs with their hands to protect themselves against the evil eye when she trudged with them to the barns and fields. The peasant family only allowed her to stay with them because the Grand Duke's supervisor had promised them a pig for the fall; otherwise, she would have been left to shift for herself.

So much for the goodness of the simple people, Adeladja thought grimly as she wrapped her hands with more rags from the ruined petticoat. She was going to the pump to get fresh water for the cattle and her hands would freeze to the metal if she didn't take precautions. The peasant family watched her like wary cats; no one had loaned or offered her a pair of mittens or gloves to help with the work.

She heard the clatter of horses and wheels and turned to see two carriages rolling along the road to the Grand Duke's hall. That's strange, she thought, why would anyone come to this _opuszczony_1 place now? She imagined that the social season in Berlin or Mecklenburg's own cities was still lively and no one would come to this estate until the spring or summer. Suddenly she felt a deep longing for the _Stadtschlosse_ and her crowded little office. The smell of food too—meaty soups and bread that couldn't be served to the Imperial family because they were hours old, not days like here. She missed her clean simple bed, even the sound of the other staff members gossiping and laughing over jokes and scandals; they had not been very friendly, but they had been lively, clean, and even sometimes amusing to overhear.

A blast of wind tore through her and Adeladja shivered back into the present. "If I stand here too long, the water will freeze," she grumbled, and dragged it sloshing to the barn.

Spring thaw just meant mud. Mud to ruin her only clothing even further, mud to slip in while she went for hay and water, mud that she tracked into the dairy and that she had to scrub out with water and tallow soap that further dried her chapped hands. Mud dried on her stockings and and seeped to her skin. When she wiped her face, she could smell manure and the salty boggy mud of Mecklenburg.

She tried to keep track of the days by noting how much later the sun seemed to set—or at least when the gray sky sank into blackness and stars—but it was hard without a clock. She couldn't look at its face and realize, "that's ten minutes later than last week!" There was a Lutheran church on the grounds and she went every Sunday (she was expected to, because the supervisor told her that the Duke kept track of his tenants' religious attendance) but she was bored and hostile to the service. It merely served to help her mark weeks. She had missed Christmas and New Year's, and she honestly could not remember how many weeks it had been since she had been flung out of Berlin.

She spoke even less than she had in the _Stadtschlosse_ and she felt her tongue grow thick and broad, almost like a cow's. They really were stupid beasts, she thought, careless of their feet, easily panicked, capable only of the most basic desires. Food, warmth, and belonging to a herd. She was afraid she was turning into one of them.

A couple nights (or three or four—she was too tired to count) after she saw the carriages, she saw tiny golden lights in the distance. She tried to orient herself and realized they were coming from the manor house on the hill. Someone was there, someone had light and warmth and the blessing of a decent meal and a fire in their bedroom's fireplace. She was more resentful than curious. She went to the stone cottage and her straw pallet with the thin blanket the patriarch had handed her out of obligation.

The next morning, after throwing hay to the cows and just before milking, the estate steward came to Adeladja. He wanted her to follow him. She did, feeling the curious or wary stares of the other workers upon her. As they walked, she recognized that they were going up to the manor house. As they came closer to the back of the house and the servants' entrance, she felt her heart flutter. Was Prussia here? She realized she was eager to see another nation, even if it were he; then she looked at her clothes and her dirty, scarred hands and felt ashamed and bitter.

The steward brushed the mud from his boots and brusquely indicated she do the same. They entered what Adeladja guessed was the butler's pantry or housekeeper's office; it was clean and sparsely furnished. Ceramic and pewter platters and tankards stood on shelves and there were dark wooden cabinets filled with finer table treasures. The steward gestured for Adeladja to sit on a bench in front of an aged table. She stared longingly at the fire on the other side. The steward then left her.

Surely, she thought, I can warm myself before whoever has summoned me arrives. If it is that_ nieznośny_2 Prussia, he will have to beat me to get me away from it. She was sore enough as it was, and she was cold; a few minutes of warmth was worth a couple of blows. She stood up, walked around the table and held her hands before the flames. Oh, it felt wonderful! She smiled as she felt her fingers, toes and even her ear tips thaw.

"_Guten Morgen_3_, _Adeladja." She recognized Prussia's voice and turned to look at him. He was dressed in riding clothes, looking more like a wealthy landowner than a military officer. "_Mein Gott,_ this is an ugly place! And this is an ungodly hour. In Berlin, I'd still be sleeping off the previous night's festivities." He sat down on the bench right in front of the fireplace and warmed his hands. Adeladja noticed his boots were still clean and well-polished; obviously he had not been out yet. Everything about him looked expensive and well-kept. She noted faded battle scars on his hands, scars from centuries of wars, and yet his face still looked unlined and youthful, a far cry from the prematurely aged mortals around her.

"You look awful, Adeladja." He said matter-of-factly, still staring at the fire. "Dirty and gaunt. When was the last time you washed your hair? For that matter, when was the last time you bathed? I thought I had walked into a barn when I entered the room. Pretty strong stuff, hmm?"

Adeladja also stared at the fire. She wasn't going to grace his questions with answers. She also honestly couldn't remember.

"I asked you a question. When was the last time you bathed?"

"I can't remember. _MeinHerr Preuβen_." She added with a little sneer.

"Do you like it here, toiling with the good people of the land? Notice how none of them are Poles?"

"I've noticed how filthy and primitive they are."

Prussia chuckled and waved his hand. "Mecklenberg is notorious for its backwardness. That's why I sent you here. I couldn't have you running about _Pommern_ or _Westpreußen_ and stirring up hope, could I?"4 He stood up and came over to stand next to her before the fire. She steeled herself for a grab or a blow. "Or maybe if you were up there, you would see what my boss sees5. Filthy, primitive Pollacks taking up valuable farmland that should go to enterprising Germans."

Adeladja kept staring at the fire. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She was tired of being cold, hungry, hated and mocked, and helpless to protect her people. All she needed to do, she thought, was to close her eyes and fall forward into the flames. It would be terrible and excruciating, but then it would be over. She rocked on her feet and then realized she feared the pain of fire more than the drudgery of another day. There were other ways to end her existence.

"So what are you going to do now, Danzig?"

His use of that address startled her. She turned to look at him and shrugged. "I don't know. Go back to the barn and milk cows. Bring the milk to the dairy house. Try not to get yelled at or beaten."

"Do you know why I'm here?" He turned to face her now and patted the bench. They sat down together, sides leaning against the table. He wasn't smirking or giving her that wolfish stare she remembered from their first meeting. In the flames' light, his eyes seemed a warm reddish brown.

"To laugh at my misfortune and call me a stubborn, stupid Pollack, MeinHerr Preuβen." It wasn't a question or accusation, just a simple statement from exhaustion.

"Nein. That comes later, if necessary," he said. "I've come to ask you the same question I asked you back in Berlin. To retake the exam, if you will. So here's your choice again: Beast of burden or pampered pet?"

Adeladja closed her eyes and bowed her head. "I need to think about it."

"There's nothing to think about, Adeladja." His tone was gentle. If you choose 'pet,' you will get a hot bath, a warm set of decent clothes, a good breakfast, and we will head out to catch the train to Berlin. You'll be in your own bedroom in the Stadtschlosse by nightfall. If you refuse, you will never see or hear from me again and you will continue slogging away here in Mecklenburg."

"My brother will be furious when he hears of this."

Prussia shrugged. "Ja, but he won't, and even if he did, there's nothing he could do about it. So, here is your last chance. Berlin or Mecklenburg?"

Adeladja glanced sideways at Prussia. He was right of course, she finally told herself. But he wasn't smirking like she expected. His face was neutral; only the index finger tapping on the wood table gave away- his impatience? Nervousness? "What do you want from me, MeinHerr?"

He snorted. "Isn't it obvious, Adeladja? I told you back in Berlin. _Mein Gott_, this place really does make entities stupid!" He must have seen the tears roll down her face, for his voice grew gentler. "I want you to love me, Adeladja, that's all."

She almost laughed at him. How could she love him when he had done _this _ to her, not to mention what he had done to her brother! But then she looked at him and saw hope glistening in his eyes. _Mój Bóg, _she realized with pity and astonishment, he's serious.

"You'd want for nothing," he continued in that gentle tone. "I'll take good care of you. It's an easy job, Adeladja."

She studied the gleam of his black riding boots, the good wool of his suit, the pale tapping finger with the clean nail. She looked down at her own dirty, damaged hands wrapped in rags and whispered, "Berlin."

"_Ausgezeichnet!"_ 6 Prussia sprang up, opened the door and gave someone orders in rapid German. Two stolid blond maids appeared and curtseyed to him. He nodded towards Adeladja. "Go with them. Get cleaned up, dressed, and fed. We'll meet in the great room at nine." He bowed to her as the maids led her further into the manor. "_Scrub sie gut_!"7

She soaked in hot water that turned brown from the mud and filth on her body and hair. Silent hands scrubbed her skin pink and ran through her matted hair. Then there was a brisk rubdown and thorough combing before another fire. The maids worked briskly and quietly; one dressed her in soft cotton lawn and flannel undergarments, the other laced her into the first corset she had worn in several months. They buttoned supple leather boots over fine wool stockings. They helped her into a dense linen blouse and traveling suit of Prussian blue wool. Finally one separated her hair into sections, brushing, twisting and pinning them into a fashionable hairstyle. The other shaped her brows with tweezers and then offered her a hand mirror. Adeladja studied her face. She saw prominent cheekbones and blue-gray eyes with dark circles under them. Almost intuitively, the maid started patting her face with a powder puff and rubbing a little rouge into her cheeks. Adeladja looked into the mirror again. The dark circles were less visible and at least she looked alive. Only the eyes seemed weary.

The maid with the powder puff left the room and returned with a tray of food. The maid doing her hair finally placed a dark blue hat at a stylish angle on top of her hair and anchored it with a pin. She stepped away and pulled a small table in front of Adeladja. The other placed the tray down and the aroma of eggs, sausage, fried potatoes and coffee wafted into her face, more seductive than flowers or perfume. Adeladja wanted desperately to cram her mouth full, to lick up every crumb and smear of flavor from the plate, but she was mindful of the maids. She forced herself to eat like a lady, slowly and neatly, so no one would report back to Prussia that she ate like a peasant. When she was done, one maid helped put on her traveling cloak with fur trim and neat black gloves. They escorted her downstairs and to the wood-paneled great hall.

Prussia was waiting for her, an overcoat draped over his shoulders. When he saw her, he smiled the same wolfish smile she disliked. Maybe it really was better to be dirty and in rags, she thought. "_Nicht schlecht, nicht schlecht_,"8 he murmured, taking her hand. "We might get your looks back after all." He gestured to the maids and his manservant. "Pack up the carriage. We have an hour to get to Hagenow and catch the Berlin train. _Schnell!_"9

By the time they reached the station and boarded the train to Berlin, Adeladja was exhausted. She didn't know if it was the hot bath, the heavy breakfast, or simply the emotional weight of the day's decision, but she could barely keep her eyes open. It was hard to sit upright on the velvet covered seat when she desperately wanted to lie down and sleep. Prussia sat across from her, watching as she struggled to stay awake.

At one point, she felt the seat shift and the horsehair stuffing sigh next to her. He had moved to sit beside her and put one arm around her shoulders. When he pulled her to lean against him, she didn't resist.

"Better than that cold window, ja?" his voice reverberated from his chest to her ear.

"Mmm." She could barely manage words or any further movement. He was warm and he smelled of tobacco, gunpowder, cologne water, and something wild and dark. It wasn't bad. She faded into that half-life of sleep and consciousness.

"_Meine fragiler kleinr Vogel,_10_" _he whispered into her hair. "_Wir werden zusammen viel spaß haben_11_."_

**So what do you think of Prussia's statement to Adeladja about what her "job" is? And what do you think of Adeladja's acceptance of his offer now? The story is going to start getting good, readers. Thanks for reading and responding!**

1 Polish: abandoned, forsaken

2 Polish: obnoxious, intolerable, annoying

3 German: Good morning

4 German: Pomerania or West Prussia, two of the provinces of the Kingdom of Prussia. Danzig was in West Prussia.

5 Otto von Bismarck, the Chancellor of Germany and the architect of the Unification of Germany. He was notorious for his anti-Pole and anti-Catholic polices during the 1870s.

6 German: Excellent

7 German: Scrub her well!

8 German: Not bad, not bad

9 German: quick!

10 German: My fragile little bird

11 German: We're going to have a lot of fun together.


	8. Chapter 8 Her Dread

**Chapter 8 Her Dread**

**Food fight! And an historical personage...**

Adeladja thought of her first few days back in the _Stadtschlosse_ as white. She awoke in a pink, white and gold room, on a bed of crisp white sheets. She wore a soft white flannel gown garnished with white _broderie anglaise_ and ribbon trim. Maids bathed her in warm baths of buttermilk and buffed her face with a cleanser of white clay and almond meal. They fed her white food—soft rolls, porridge, boiled potatoes, poached pike, chicken breast, veal broth, and blanc-mange. They rubbed her cracked hands and feet with a white cream and covered them with thin cotton gloves and bed socks. The first few days she slept, bathed, and ate. Since she had no memory of infancy, she imagined this was what mortal babies experienced. And she was glad.

Just as she was starting to get bored, the routine changed. After breakfast, she was corseted, dressed in a simple outfit, and taken for a walk by a mortal maid out about the Stadtschlosse's square and plaza for about thirty minutes. She was given five little meals throughout the day; apparently Herr Prussia had read somewhere that women who were waist training should eat several light meals instead of three big ones. Then there was time for needlework, dinner in her room, and bed.

Adeladja felt her energy return, but it didn't bring her any satisfaction or peace. She had crocheted and knitted enough lace to trim every one of her undergarments, besides a few pairs of stockings and shawls. She had embroidered all her handkerchiefs and had done needlepoint pillow covers with the coats of arms for Berlin, Gdansk, Krakow, and Warsaw. The only reading she was allowed were German newspapers. Her walks grew longer and her corsets tighter, but her mind was galloping madly, a panicked horse keeping her awake at night. She was being prepared to be Prussia's pet, and she realized her duties weren't going to be limited to wearing pretty clothes and monogramming his handkerchiefs.

She admitted to herself that she was afraid. Of course, she had an idea of what she was expected to do; she had read books, she had glimpsed stray dogs and prostitutes in alley ways, and she was repulsed. How was she even going to allow_ that, _much less do it in a way to please him or herself? She had been raised by Polish nuns, and then the Teutonic Order's mortals; no one had taught her how to manage male desires and bodies. Even when she had returned to her brother Poland and had met Lithuania, she had no idea what they did with each other besides hunt, quarrel, and make up. And when Feliks had claimed Ukraine, she had never even seen the lovely blonde Ekaterina or learned what her brother expected of her besides obedience. He had planned Adeladja and Elena to remain pure and unsullied by the cynical bargains struck by many nations who sold their relatives, regions, states and cities, into unions. Feliks expected them to be his sheltered sisters, forever devoted to him. And then the last century destroyed that dream and this century demanded that they revise it.

All she knew was that Prussia expected her to be his. He was going to enter her, as surely as if he were leading a triumphant march through her gates, and she was terrified. It wasn't just the fear of pain that a mortal girl might dread on her wedding night, Adeladja realized. For one entity to possess another physically was a terrible thing, an admission of ownership and defeat. As long as she was intact, she could tell herself she was Poland's sister, a Royal City, who had once possessed her own laws. Once Prussia possessed her, what would happen to that? She remembered Feliks's final warnings to her—_Protect our people at all costs! Do nothing to shame me or them_!—and her head ached. The sleeplessness caused her to have strange thoughts and to startle at anything out of her strict schedule.

One evening, a maid entered, but without the expected dinner tray. Instead, she opened the rococo-styled wardrobe and pulled out a grass-green silk dress and several underthings. She smiled hesitantly at Adeladja. "Shall I dress you, Fraulein?" she asked in a heavy Holsteiner accent.

Adeladja stared at her, struggling to understand the accent and simple question. For a moment, she imagined saying "Nein," and asking to have a full day's sleep instead, but the effort to withstand the fallout overwhelmed her. _It's going to happen_, she realized, _and now is as good a time as any._ She stood up for the maid to undo her dark wool dress. She tightened Adeladja's corset, changed her wool stockings to black silk ones, added more petticoats and a bustle cage of whalebone and steel that would fold when Adeladja sat. She carefully put on and adjusted the dress's low cut bodice and voluminous skirt. The maid sat her down in front of the vanity table and put up and dressed her hair with a delicate hair band of peridots and amethysts. She powdered Adeladja's face and décolletage, rouged her lips and cheeks, and dabbed her with rose perfume. She added earrings and a necklace of amethysts and then helped Adeladja into tight white kid gloves and high heeled evening slippers of green silk.

"Is it good, Fraulein?" The maid asked as she shifted the large dressing mirror in front of Adeladja so she could inspect herself. Adeladja couldn't speak, partly because the maid had laced her rather tightly and partly because she was astonished to see the fashionable creature in the mirror. The silk dress had gathered cap sleeves and a low neckline that showcased the cleavage created by the corsetry: a perfect sacrifice, Adeladja thought. She whispered, "Ja, it's very good, danke."

A footman waiting outside her bedroom escorted Adeladja to the main floor of reception rooms and salons. He brought her through rooms filled with mirrors, paintings and candle-lit chandeliers. Somewhere she could hear music and laughter. A party! Her heart leapt up; she was eager for new faces and conversation, diversions that might prevent the final act. The footman stopped before a wall and then opened a door that had been disguised to look like a decorative panel. She followed him, noting sadly that the music was drifting farther away as he led her into a pair of brightly lit small rooms. The one they entered had an elegantly set table for dinner, and lounging against the blue and gold wall was Prussia in dress-uniform splendor.

He nodded at the footman as he bowed and left. "_Guten Abend_,1" Prussia said as he bowed and kissed the air above her hand. "Shall we dine?" He led her by the hand to the table and Adeladja noted that there was only one chair. To the chair's left was a large Oriental cushion on the floor. When she looked quizzically at him, he gestured with his boot towards the cushion. "You kneel there."

He can't be serious, Adeladja thought. His hand traveled up to her exposed shoulder and squeezed it. "Kneel, Adeladja." His voice was soft but firm. She reluctantly sank to her knees, facing the table and catty-corner to Prussia's chair. She could scarcely see the plates and glasses, only a profile of Prussia as he sat down and began to serve himself from the platters of meats and vegetables.

He began talking to her about the fine details of German unification, taking sips of Rhine wine and bites of something that smelled like roast goose. Adeladja's mouth watered and she was afraid that her stomach would start to rumble. Without pausing in his words or looking at her, Prussia leaned over and hovered a fork of meat in front of her mouth. She paused and then took the bite. As he continued on the annoying fine points of states and provinces, he then offered her a sip of wine from a glass. So it went on; he chatted while alternating food and wine between himself and her.

This is ridiculous, Adeladja thought. The goose and the stuffing of prunes and cabbage were delicious, the wine intoxicating, but she would have preferred feeding herself porridge and boiled chicken seated at a table in her own room. She breathed deeply through her nose, humiliation and rage growing with each breath, while her fear diminished. Her thigh muscles ached and she sank back to rest on her heels.

_Thwap! _Something loud and sharp landed on the small of her back, stinging and reverberating through the corset. She gasped in a mix of pain, shock and anger. She glared at Prussia and saw him grinning at her. He was holding a riding crop in his left hand.

"I didn't give you permission to relax now, did I, Adeladja?" He said.

"Where did that come from?" She demanded. Prussia smiled and waved the crop at her."Don't you remember what I told you about speaking to me?"

She bit her lip before she spoke to temper herself. "_Um das Worte, bitte, MeinHerr Preußen."_

He stared coolly at her. "_Nein_, not with that sour look on your face." He then helped himself to an apple and began peeling it. "I had it tucked along the seat cushion. Easy for me to reach, hard for you to see." He smiled to himself as he cut the apple into wedges and then started to spread something creamy on them. "Have you ever had Camembert, Adeladja? It's a French cheese. Very good. Why must the damn Franks be so good at the finer things?" He offered her a wedge and she fought down the temptation to bite his fingers as she took it. The cheese was rich and strong-flavored, with a rank edge to it. Prussia watched her reaction. "What do you think of it?"

"I'm not used to it, _MeinHerr Preußen." _She thought it was a tactful answer.

"You'll get used to it." He smiled at her slowly and something about the smile made her feel tricked and compromised. He then got up from the table, offered her his hand and helped pull her up. She was surprised at how strong such a slender man could be. "Bring the wine carafe and glasses, Adeladja." She did and they crossed into the parlor adjoining the dining room. "Put them down." He gestured at a table next to the neoclassical sofa. "Now, let me look at you. Walk to the wall and back to me." She obeyed and returned. "Very good. He ran his hands up and down her torso; she was afraid that he would begin touching her breasts. "Waist has a few more inches to go, I think, but all in good time, ja? Now, let's see your hands." He undid the buttons at her wrists and helped her pull the long kid gloves off. "Much better, Adeladja." He fondled them, admiring the soft skin and trimmed, buffed nails. Then he tilted her head from side to side, examining her skin. "Show me your teeth," he commanded and when she hesitated, he pulled open her lips and checked them. "You should brush them better," he said coolly.

Prussia sat down on the sofa, poured himself a glass of wine, and gestured to Adeladja. "Come sit by me." She sat on the couch, making sure there was a forearm's length between them. He pulled her over so they sat hip to hip, and her fear surged in her, threatening to send her dinner all over her lap and the Oriental carpet.

"What is it, Adeladja?" Prussia sounded amused. She kept breathing, staring at the wall paintings before her, unwilling to admit her fear. "I asked you a question, Adeladja." Prussia's voice grew colder. "Why are you acting as if you were about to be beheaded?"

Adeladja paused, closing her eyes and gathering her thoughts. She didn't want to tell him that she was afraid, but before she could say anything, he asked, "Are you nervous? Is this your first time?"

She exhaled, relieved. It must have been obvious, even if she had come under France's gaze twice in her existence. First, she had surrendered to him, Russia, and the Kingdom of Saxony in 1734; fortunately, Saxony had made it clear that she was not meant for either Francis Bonnefoy or Ivan Braginski to enjoy, but would end up as a sister to him if his mortal won the War of Polish Succession. Second, when France liberated her from Prussia in 1807, Feliks had been there to protect her from Francis's appreciative eye. Furthermore, she had figured out the two had a curious attachment to each other, so that was another reason nothing happened. She nodded.

Prussia guided her chin to face him. His eyes were burgundy, hard to read. "The first time at anything is difficult," he said, and she smiled gratefully at his understanding. He took a sip of wine and mused, "I remember my first few times in battle. _Mein Gott, _ I was a child and so nervous. I actually got sick." He turned to look at her again; Adeladja felt for the frightened child warrior he had been. "You know what is the best thing for these situations?" He paused and she shook her head, studying him for any advice.

"You just get the first time out of the way!" With this, he lunged at her, trying to force her down upon the sofa. Adeladja screamed and kicked at him, trying to break away. She tumbled off the sofa, onto her hands and knees, alarmed at how he clung to her waist, trying to force her upon the carpet. _Nie, nie, _she panicked, _not like this! _ She scrabbled across the floor, trying to get away, but he held tightly to her. She reared up, clawing at his hands, trying to break his grip. She screamed again, and when he tried to clap a hand across her mouth, she bit him.

Prussia cursed and pulled his hand away. At that, Adeladja broke the grip on her waist and staggered up and away from him. She turned and saw him glare at her as he stood up, ready to pounce. She ran to the sideboard and grabbed a serving dish of cabbage and prune stuffing. When he sprang at her, she hurled it at him. If things had been calmer, she might have laughed at the strands of cabbage mingling with the bullion fringe of his epaulets, but she only wanted to flee.

Prussia glared at her and snarled, _"Du Schlampe_!" Adeladja hissed, grabbed the nearest object, a silver candlelabra with lit candles, and threw it at him. He dodged, spitting more German curses and stamping out the flames. She looked about frantically, trying to find the hidden door entrance. She glimpsed a carved wall panel with unusually clear lines around it and hoped it was the one.

She darted a look at her enemy. Prussia circled the table just as she did. When she detected the panel, she saw his eyes follow hers and light up. _Mój Bóg_, she thought, he knows! She feinted towards the corner of the table nearest the hidden door, and when he followed her lead, she tipped the table towards him, sending valuable china, silver and more lit candles towards him. Prussia howled in rage as flames, food, and fragile objects tumbled towards him, and she ran towards the door. Adeladja banged against each panel until one gave way and she fled into the hall.

Staggering into the hallway, she sighed with relief. But Prussia had leapt over the table, snarling threats and murder as he followed her. Adeladja picked up her skirts and ran, looking for familiar sights to lead her back to her bedroom. _Mój Bóg,_ she realized, she had no idea where she was going! All she could hope was to confuse or exhaust the nation behind her and then to beg a mortal servant to lead her back to safety.

Too late, she felt a pair of strong arms grasp her constricted waist and a male's weight slow her down. "_Lass mich los!"_2She cried, but she had been thrown off balance; she braced herself against the fall, feeling the carpet burn into her exposed elbows and forearms. "_Awa!"_ She wailed as the sensation surged into her arms.

Adeladja didn't know what to expect next; actually, she assumed it would be more visceral and terrifying than anything she had ever experienced as she felt Prussia's weight fall upon her back, causing her to screech in pain. But when she looked up, she saw a man staring at her in horror, surrounded by a cluster of people in formal gowns and military uniforms.

The tall man in Prussian dress uniform puffed his impressive golden mustachios and beard and looked down at her in a mix of pity and indignation. Adeladja hoped that the indignation was directed at Prussia, who was sprawled on the carpet besides her.

"Bielschmidt," the golden-bearded mortal growled, "what is this?"

Prussia grinned. "Ach, _,Eure Hoheit,_ just a little lovers' game that got out of control."3 He glared at Adeladja, trying to force her agreement. She ignored him, focusing on the mortals before her. _Please help me, _she willed towards the man. As she gazed at him, she realized whom he was. They had met before in 1867, when he and his wife had come to Danzig to speak about the recent restrictions on the press. Crown Prince Friedrich, heir to the Kingdom of Prussia and the German Empire, looked down at her with pale inscrutable eyes. Then they snapped back to Prussia, and Adeladja saw a spark inflame them.

"_Preußen, _come with me," he commanded, and to Adeladja's relief, Prussia let her go and followed him. Even his ugly warning look didn't disturb her; some of the mortal officers and women in the entourage were encouraging her to stand up, and offering her their arms and smelling salts. She inhaled, grateful for the sharp smell to clear her head, and sat on a chair in the hallway.

* * *

"Preußen, what is the meaning of this?" Crown Prince Friedrich demanded once he had brought the entity into another room. He would not offer him beer, schnapps or brandy; he didn't think the nation needed any further alcohol.

"It's nothing, _Eurhe Hoheit,_" Prussia grumbled. "Just a frolic that got out of hand, that's all." He studied the heir to his kingdom and the German Empire. The less this tender-hearted mortal knew about his personal affairs the better, he decided.

"Who is she?" The Crown Prince asked, walking towards Prussia. "What is this _frolic_ and why would it get out of hand?"

Prussia sighed and rolled his eyes; _Mein Gott_, why did mortals think they could regulate the morality of a nation's life, especially when it came to the cities and states one owned? Danzig was his, as much as Hannover was his. Why didn't Great Britain declare war on him for trying to seduce Hannover? Simple, because Arthur Kirkland realized Monika no longer belonged to him and any jealousy was sentimental nonsense on his part. Danzig was his, Gilbert reasoned. She had been his until she had gotten silly ideas that she belonged to Poland in the fifteenth century, and now she was his again. How often did he have to explain it to the mortals involved until they supported him or left him in peace?

"That girl is from Danzig," Gilbert muttered, "and therefore a subject of mine. She asked to come to Berlin and I let her. She knew why I agreed to this, she—"

"Who _is _she?" The Crown Prince bore into him with pale blue eyes.

"Adeladja Łukasiewicz." Prussia shrugged as if it were a matter of no importance. He hoped the Crown Prince would get the idea and let him go.

"Łukasiewicz," the Crown Prince mused. The name was familiar. He recalled his speech in Danzig in 1867, the woman introduced to him at the reception, and suddenly his eyes widened in recognition. "Mein Gott, Preußen, that _is_ the City of Danzig! What is she doing here and what gives you the right to treat her so roughly?"

"Our agreement. Nothing for mortals to worry about." Gilbert was about to get up, but the Crown Prince's glare made him pause. Prince Friedrich might be a liberal romantic who hated war, but he was also brave and much taller and stronger than the nation. "As I said, a lover's frolic got a little out of control," Gilbert sighed. "You were a young lover once, _Eurhe Hoheit_," he smiled winningly. "Surely you and the Crown Princess chased each other for a kiss!"

The Crown Prince blushed. "But never like that!" He insisted. "That was no game out there. That girl was terrified." He stepped towards the seated nation and loomed over him. "You will apologize to Fraulein Łukasiewicz and treat her more respectfully and honorably in the future. I do not know what your 'agreement' with her is, but if I see or hear any more evidence of ill-treatment, I _will_ intervene more forcefully. I know your reputation among the other entities and mortals, Preußen, and this behavior does not help it."

Gilbert met the mortal's commanding gaze. If Friedrich's father, Kaiser Wilhelm, were also here, or better yet, Bismarck, he would have freely smirked at the threat. He knew the Crown Prince and his wife were unpopular and powerless with the Chancellor. But now, he would play nice. He got up and bowed towards the Prince, arranging his features into the humblest expression he could manage.

"_Jawohl, Eurhe Hoheit,_ in the future, I shall be more thoughtful and discreet in my relationship with my city. She is, after all, part of me, the Kingdom of Prussia, and I shall treat her as well as I would treat myself." _After all, we were here before you and we will be here long after your handsome corpse has dried to dust_, he added to himself. "Therefore, the sooner I get back to her and resolve this little misunderstanding, the sooner you can get home to check on the Crown Princess in her confinement."4

Crown Prince Friedrich nodded, his pale blue eyes once again calm and unreadable. As he left the room with the swaggering entity, he sighed. He loved the Kingdom of Prussia, but he didn't really like Gilbert Bielschmidt.

* * *

As she stood with the Crown Prince's attendants, Adeladja was pleased to see her clothes helped her blend in. For a second, she wondered if she could drift off with the group to the Crown Prince's palace. There she could live respectably and safely from Prussia; he would have to visit her there and treat her with some courtesy. The idea pleased her and just as she was working up the nerve to ask an attendant to approach the Crown Prince about this, she heard male voices and saw the mortals bow and curtsey.

Prussia strolled towards the group, the Crown Prince resignedly behind him. Prussia bowed towards Adeladja and the other ladies in attendance. "Rest assured, Fraulein, I have learned the error of my ways and shall conduct myself with greater propriety in the future." He held out his hand to her; she took it reluctantly. "And now, _Eure Kaiserliche Hoheiten_, I shall escort Fraulein Łukasiewicz to her rooms, and leave you to a restful, early evening." 5

"Danke, Herr Bielschmidt. Kapitäne von Rudi and von Witzleben, please escort Herr Bielschmidt and Fraulein Łukasiewicz to her quarters."6 With that, the Crown Prince and his mortals departed.

Adeladja noted Prussia's sullenness as the officers walked with them. She was pleased to see they were disinterested in his attempts to chat. This time, she paid careful attention to the route to her room in order to be better prepared for a future escape. When they reached her door, she gratefully curtseyed to the young officers. As she opened her door, Prussia took her arm and leaned in.

"Rest up, Frauleinchen," he whispered, squeezing and twisting her upper arm's flesh until she winced. She was about to comment on the pain, but then he released her with a little shove into her room. "Gute Nacht, Liebling!" He called, slamming the door behind her. "Now _meine Kapitäne_, how about some drinks?" Masculine laughter rang in Adeladja's ears, warning bells for future nights.

**So what do you think of Adeladja's nervousness about sex, even before Prussia's oh-so-awesome solution to losing one's v-card? And if Crown Prince Friedrich shows up, guess who else may appear farther in the story? I'll give you a hint, if this historical figure shows up, Arthur Kirkland won't be far behind...Thanks for reading!**

1 German: good evening

2 German: Let go of me!

3 German: Your Highness

4 Crown Princess Victoria was pregnant with her and Friedrich's last child in 1872; she would deliver the princess in April, so she wasn't gadding about at the Imperial social events she didn't like anyway. But don't worry; we and Adeladja will meet her further down the road…

5 German: Your Imperial Highnesses

6 German: captains


	9. Chapter 9 Her Performance

**Chapter 9 Her Performance**

A few days passed and Adeladja ate dinner in her rooms. She was relieved she didn't have to deal with Prussia. Her upper arm was still red and sore from his grip and the cold, angry look in his eyes haunted her. _He's planning something_, she thought, but she didn't know what. Anything was possible, she feared. Then one evening, the maid began to dress her in another dinner dress and she realized she was going to see _him_ again. As the maid laced her corset tighter, she wanted to vomit. By the time, she tried to put pearl drops in Adeladja's ears, she was trembling so much the maid asked if she needed smelling salts. She shook her head; no strong odor would clear away her thoughts. As she followed the footman to the hidden rooms, she rehearsed a variety of responses to possible actions. When she entered, Prussia was standing near the sideboard, finishing a glass of beer. He nodded his head at her and towards the cushion.

Adeladja inhaled and stood her ground. She forced herself to look at him. He stared back, puzzled, annoyed, and then sardonic. "_Polin_, you know what to do."1 He pointed at the hated pillow. "Kneel on your cushion."

Adeladja licked her lips and steadied herself. "Nein, MeinHerr Preußen." _Mój Bóg, _her voice sounded so thin and frail. She breathed deeply. "I will stand for dinner tonight, MeinHerr."

Prussia narrowed his eyes. "Then you won't eat, either. Just stand at attendance like a good little maid." He started to walk past her. "You can at least come closer to the table, so you can serve me better."

Adeladja nodded; she could do that. As she took her first step, something hooked about her weight-bearing ankle, and she stumbled. Suddenly she found her forehead pressed down into the carpet and her bustled behind in the air. She could feel Prussia's fingers clutching her neck from behind and his legs straddling her sides. This is it, she thought, this is the part where we stop pretending. He will attack me and I will hate him, and there will be no more talk of pets and affection. Her blood rushed through her body and her mind raced for a way out as she felt his chest and stomach press along her back.

"We have some talking to do, Adeladja." She could smell the beer and tobacco on Prussia's breath as it wafted past her ear.

"Jawohl, MeinHerr," she managed to gasp out. She tried to push herself up with her arms, but he pushed her face further into the carpet, grinding her cheek against the coarse wool fibers. She could smell food and smoke from the last dinner's fight.

"You caused a lot of damage and trouble for me, _Frauleinchen,_ after I had been _so_ kind to you." His voice fell on her ears as cold and soft as snow. "What do you think we do to naughty _Hündinnen_ who bite their masters and mess up the house?"2 She didn't dare speak. "We punish them, that's what we do, so they never misbehave again."

Adeladja trembled. _Mój Bóg_, he was serious, she thought as he squeezed her neck. It was all a lie, what he had said in Mecklenburg. Her mind leapt. _What he had said in Mecklenburg._

"How is this is supposed to make me love you, MeinHerr?" She managed to say.

His grip lightened a bit. "_Wat?"_

Adeladja gathered strength. "How is _this_ supposed to make me love you, MeinHerr? That's what you told me you wanted me to do in Mecklenburg, ja? You said it would be easy work, MeinHerr. Surely you didn't say such things simply to lure me here. You are an honorable nation who keeps his word, ja?" A little flattery couldn't hurt, she hoped.

She felt herself turned onto her back. Prussia still straddled her and now he held her hands down over her head. Adeladja's mouth ran dry and she wanted to avoid his hard stare, but she forced herself to look into his ruby eyes. "I said those things," he admitted. "But _you_ were the one who misbehaved. _You_ are the one who has made this harder on herself and who has to be punished." He leaned closer, his nose touching hers. "Then we can talk about you loving me."

Tears came to Adeladja's eyes. "Bitte, MeinHerr, have pity on a frightened _Jungfrau_ who acted foolishly," she whispered.3 "You've trained horses, dogs, even falcons, ja?" She tried to smile at him. "What does punishment teach a frightened, inexperienced creature?"

Prussia puffed in her face, exasperated. "That they've done something wrong and they better not do it again." At least, she thought, the hard glow in his eyes had receded.

"It teaches them to be afraid. If they are only punished, then you have a horse who is too terrified to move, a dog that slinks and hides." Adeladja didn't know what to say about falcons, but she could feel her heart slow down, even as her mind gathered focus and speed. "How do you teach an animal its commands, MeinHerr?" An image from the fall returned to her mind. "How did that couple you showed me, the mortals with the little dog, teach it to be so playful and happy? Do you think the man forced it into a corner and pulled it up by the scruff of its neck to make it learn to beg? Or that little spinning dance it did. Did the man or woman chase it with a stick, beating it to turn on itself? When they continued on their walk, that little dog could have run away. But it followed them instead. How do you think it learned to do those things, MeinHerr?"

For the first time, she thought she saw a glimmer of interest and even respect in his dark red eyes**. ** "You actually have some sense, Adeladja." He removed one of his hands, and she sighed. Prussia traced her cheek, her lips and then trailed his finger down to her cleavage. _Be still_, she told herself. She wanted to bolt but she could feel his weight pressing down on her. He stroked and pressed the exposed tops of her breasts. Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "But you're still going to make up for the damage you caused." He pulled at her ear lobe with his teeth.

"Of course, MeinHerr Preuβen. But I feel faint and I would really like to eat dinner first. Bitte." She hated being in this position under him. His one hand still roved over her cleavage while the other pinned her aching wrists together. His lips traveled down her neck, resting on her rapid pulse. Her heart began pounding faster and louder, like fists against a door. "Dinner first_, bitte_." He ignored her, running his tongue over the veins in her neck. _Stop_, a little voice in her head demanded, but it was almost drowned in the pounding noise of the blood rushing through her body. She felt dizzy and like her limbs were melting in the ground, but the little voice told her, _one more try._

Prussia's lips traveled up her neck to her chin, nipping at her jawline. "Dinner first_, bitte MeinHerr, bitte," _she pleaded. Her stomach lurched and another idea came to her.

"I'm rather enjoying this," he replied and leaned in to kiss her mouth, but Adeladja turned her head and made a retching noise. "Forgive me," she whispered, "But if I don't eat—" she interrupted herself with another retching attempt.

Prussia pulled away from her face. "_Schon gut._"4 He seemed flustered, as if he had come out of a dream. "Let me get you something." He craned his neck to look at the dinner table, and realized that he would have to get up to reach the bread. She heard him mutter to himself and then he knelt next to her with a roll and goblet of water. He offered her a piece and she chewed slowly as if it were a great effort for her.

"Sit up," he said, and she tried to prop herself on her elbows. He held the crystal goblet to her lips and she took little sips as if she were afraid of what her reflexes would do. He offered her another bite of roll and she noted how his eyebrows wrinkled with concern. It's working, she thought to herself. She forced her breathing to slow down and looked up at him with a little smile of gratitude. "_Danke, MeinHerr." _She whispered.

"You feel better now?" His eyes looked cold and hungry again as he leaned towards her, but she made a show of patting her head and stomach carefully. "I think I need a little more food, _bitte,_ and then. . ." she trailed off deliberately.

"I don't want you to get sick on me, Adeladja." Prussia pulled her up to a kneeling position and she braced her arms and hands against the carpet as if she were trying to balance herself. "This has already been a pretty disappointing day."

"Of course, MeinHerr Preuβen, I don't want that either. I think a little something more and I should be well." She watched him get up and scrutinize the table. He brought down a soup tureen and a couple of spoons. "It's probably cold, but I think it's chicken and that's always good." He took off the lid and dipped a spoon in. "Open up, and if it doesn't agree with you, turn your head _that way_." He gestured behind her. Adeladja sipped the broth from the spoon and took another bite of the roll he offered her. She made sure that she seemed hesitant and wary, as if she were afraid her body would react strongly. Secretly, she was hungry and exhilarated.

After a few more spoonfuls and bites, she felt she had completed her charade. "Do you feel better now?" Prussia asked her and she nodded. "Ach ja, MeinHerr Preuβen. I think my strength is back." She widened her eyes with concern. "And you, MeinHerr? Aren't you going to eat?"

He shook his head. "Nein, I'm fine." He stood up and held his hand down to her. "Get up now and don't let the blood rush to your head." She got up slowly and made herself sway a little. He waited until she seemed to regain her equilibrium. "Come to the sofa," he said and she followed. She sat next to him, gathering her wits. I can't let him pin me down again, she thought. She turned to look at him, and he leaned in to kiss her on the lips.

Surprisingly, his lips were firm but gentle, coaxing her own to relax. She felt one arm slide around her shoulders and the other around her waist, drawing her into him. She trembled but as his hands gently rubbed her back, she calmed down. She rested one hand on his chest and felt his heart beating steadier than hers. His lips parted and teased her lower lip and then his mouth traveled back down her neck. His tongue ran over her veins and muscles and she sighed. It felt…_nice._

She could feel a heaviness settle over her as he kissed his way back to her mouth. Slowly, she stroked his silver-blond hair with her free hand and was pleased by how silky it felt. She liked that he didn't slick it back with the pomades or dressings she saw on other men. His lips were wetter now and she parted hers slightly to take in more of them. She felt his hand caress the back of her head, a pleasant warmth in her stomach as he pulled her closer onto him—

And suddenly there was this muscle, this _thing_ jamming itself into her mouth and she tried to pull away, but he pushed further, flattening her own tongue and making her splutter. So she panicked and bit down on the intruder.

"_Verdammt! __Du biβt mir, du Schlampe!"_5Prussia shoved her off of him and clutched his mouth. His red eyes blazed at her as Adeladja recoiled against the farthest end of the sofa.

"_Es tut mir leid! MeinHerr Preuβen, es tut mir leid!_"6 Adeladja jumped as she saw his free hand clench. "You stuck your tongue in my mouth!"

"That's what people do when they kiss!" He shouted at her. "_Mein Gott_, are you really that stupid? Didn't you have admirers? Fool around? Experiment with Lithuania, France? Other girls?"

"No! That's a sin!" She was shocked.

Prussia looked at her with disgust. "_Dumme Ziege_!7 I was being _nice_ to you and then you ruin it." He sucked his breath in sharply and muttered more curses between touching his tongue with his fingers.

"That was my first kiss," Adeladja pleaded. "I didn't know."

"_Halt die Klappe_."8 He leaned over to the side table and rang the bell for the footman. "I don't want to look at you right now." When the footman entered, Prussia waved a hand in Adeladja's direction. "Take her to her bedroom and then summon the steward."

Adeladja stood before him. "_Es tut mir leid, MeinHerr Preuβen."_

He refused to look at her. "_Verpiss dich_."9

She left and returned to her room, where a maid undid her dress and took down her hair. As she sat before the dressing table in her nightgown, she thought about what had happened. He had had her in a vulnerable position twice, and both times she had managed to talk her way out of them. She had lied and flattered and acted. And she had ended the evening—unintentionally, but still—with nothing worse than an open-mouthed kiss. She felt a little rush of warmth in her chest, a sense of accomplishment. He had sent her away and she should be glad, but as she remembered the contempt in his voice and eyes, her pride drained away, leaving her empty. As she lay in her bed, she felt as if she were rocking in a boat, deep into sleep.

**What do you think of Adeladja's little performance? And what do you think Prussia is going to try next? Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

1 German: Polish woman

2 German: bitches

3 German: virgin

4 German: All right

5 German: Goddamnit! You bit me, you bitch!

6 German: I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

7 German: dumb goat

8 German: shut up

9 German: piss off


	10. Chapter 10 Her Deprivations

**Chapter 10 Her Deprivations**

Adeladja went through her morning routine of breakfast, reading and a walk; everything seemed normal, until she returned to her room to eat her lunch. She gazed around, noticing that all the landscapes had been taken off the walls. The newspaper she hadn't finished was gone from her night table and that was locked. The dressing mirror and the little one from her vanity table were gone. She tried the drawers of the vanity and dresser and rattled the doors of the wardrobe. Each of them was locked. The maid who had brought her lunch tray watched her with a bemused expression.

"What's going on here?" Adeladja asked. The maid shrugged. Adeladja sat down, ate her food without tasting and waited for the maid to take the tray and leave. The maid went to the door, handed the tray to someone outside and then returned to sit in a chair by the window.

"Why are you here? Don't you have other work to do?" Adeladja didn't like that this woman would be in her room as she went for her afternoon walk. Things were already strange enough.

"This is my work, Fraulein," the maid replied. She took a little set of needles and yarn out of her apron pocket and began knitting a sock.

Adeladja waited for the other maid to come get her for their afternoon stroll. She turned to check the time and realized that the little clock on her vanity table was gone. How was she going to keep track of the hours? She jumped up from her chair and paced, trying to keep a growing sense of panic at bay. All she heard was the soothing click of smooth wooden needles. It reminded her of her times hiding in a closet during the 1790s, hearing mortals carry on their lives while protecting her from Prussia's roving soldiers. Suddenly, she felt homesick for her city. She missed the smell of the air, the reassuring existence of the port and sea. She sat down and felt a wave of nausea surge through her, leaving her trembling in its wake. She rested her head between her legs, trying to steady herself.

"Are you ill, Fraulein?" The maid sounded disinterested.

"Nein, just a little dizzy." Adeladja tried to sound as nonchalant as she could. She straightened up and forced herself to smile at the mortal. "While I wait for my companion, I shall join you in some needlework also." She looked for where she kept her workbasket; it was missing. She rattled her drawers and the wardrobe again, She was starting to feel more and more worried. She looked out the window. The sun was shining and she could see the green and yellow of new leaves on the trees. Weather was not a problem, so why was she missing her walk?

"Can you get me something to read? A newspaper, perhaps?" She asked the maid. She shook her head. "Nein, Fraulein."

"Do you have a spare set of needles and some yarn? I could get started on the other sock for you." Adeladja watched wistfully as the maid's needles clicked.

"Nein, Fraulein."

"Then what am I supposed to do between now and dinner?" Adeladja was growing exasperated.

"Sit. Think. Sleep." The maid shrugged.

Adeladja sat back down. Her whole body felt tired, and yet anxiety hummed throughout her nerves. Maybe a nap would help restore her strength, she reasoned, as she removed her shoes and lay down on her bed. But as her muscles relaxed, her mind darted from one idea to another. He's punishing me for last night, she thought. It was an accident, I told him that, but he was so angry. She remembered the insults and contempt in his face. _Oh Bóg, Oh Bóg_, she thought to herself, what if he's going to send me to Mecklenburg or worse? What if the room were being locked and stripped because she was being sent somewhere tonight? How could she be of any use to her people or her brother if she were toiling away like a peasant in a distant field without any influence? She had had an opportunity to please him, maybe win some influence, and she had behaved like an ignorant child_. __Odurzony, odurzony, odurzony_1.

She breathed deeply and tried to slow herself down. Fine. I don't want to see him anyway, she told herself. Who knew what malicious tricks he could devise to punish her? This would be a holiday from kneeling and being fed tidbits like a dog, from his hard red eyes, his annoying cackle of a laugh. Besides, he had attacked her and would have forced himself on her if she had not gotten away. It was a relief, a reward, not to see him! Despite her best attempts to relax, her heartbeat accelerated as she grew angrier. Did he actually think mounting her like an impatient brute would make her his devoted, loving pet? He really was an idiot. Or maybe he had lied to her in Mecklenburg and he actually enjoyed her fear. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging half-moons into her palms, until she grimaced at the pain.

Adeladja closed her eyes, and summoned happier memories, like the yearly arrival of the Polish King and his entourage down Long Street. She recalled how splendidly dressed Poland and Krakow were, as they rode fiery Turkish horses to her home. She smiled as she remembered Feliks's wiry arms around her and Elena's kisses on her cheeks. She thought of the _szlachta_ in their gorgeous robes and red boots, fierce-looking mustachioed men who gently handed her pieces of the Host and wished for her happiness at Christmas dinner. In the summer, she and her siblings rode out to the magnates' villas in Sopot, to enjoy the ocean air and fresh seafood. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the seagulls cry and see the water sparkle in the sun. Oh, how she missed the pleasure trips on private boats and the races in the bay!

When she awoke, the sun had already set and a new maid sat in the chair, mending under an oil lamp. Adeladja realized that it was too late to dress for dinner. When the maid answered a knock at the door and came back with a tray, she knew that she was not seeing Prussia that night. She ate, her mind still running back and forth between worry and relief. Then the tray was taken away, the maid prepared her for bed and she lay awake, wondering what would happen next. Somehow, she drifted into a fog of dreams and memories until a maid roused her for breakfast.

The only way she could tell the passage of time was by the sunlight entering and withdrawing from her window, and even that was taken from her. Sometime around the second evening or third morning (she had lost count), someone had drawn the curtains closed. When she tried to open them, they resisted her pull. They had been sewn shut with neat, tight stitches. So she lived in the glow of oil lamps.

The maids took turns at regular intervals but when she asked them the day and time, they would answer "I don't know, Fraulein." _Of course you know_, she wanted to shout at them, _but you won't tell me!_ There was nothing to do. She paced when she felt anxious and ready to claw herself out of her clothes and skin. She checked the locks on the furniture and windows, ignoring the maids' little smiles and head shakes. She tried to engage them in conversation, but they kept to the most basic answers or ignored her.

She found it harder to stay on her feet or walk. She felt weak and dizzy, so she took to her bed. She tried to live in her mnd, but the memories of her brother and sister receded, becoming more faded and vague. Worse, they grew garbled and uncontrollable; she would try to recall Feliks, but saw him only when he was a haunted fugitive, or a bruised shadow of himself. She heard voices, taunts in German, banging on doors, and she trembled as if the room were cold. Sometimes she could see Prussia and his sister in their uniforms from the 1790s, pushing and tugging her between them; she would twist and cry out. When she opened her eyes, she feared she had been taken by them, but she only saw a worried maid and mortal doctor peering at her. She whimpered and shivered when the maid undid her bodice, corset and pulled down her chemise so they could apply a plaster to her chest. She was on fire; maybe she had thrown herself into the fireplace at Mecklenburg-Schwerin and this was her eternal punishment for taking her own life. She cried for mercy in German and Polish, and it arrived in a bitter-tasting tea that sent her somewhere so dark and deep, no memory or fear could reach her.

Adeladja awoke to the artificial light and the maid in the rocking chair. It was exactly as it had been the first night she had been locked in this room. She longed for someone to ask her a question, to touch her out of more than duty. _I would even see him_, she suddenly thought; she was horrified with herself. He was the mastermind behind this deprivation, and yet she would gladly see him. She didn't know if she would cling to his knees and beg for forgiveness or rage at him and risk the consequences. But she did know that whatever would happen, it would be preferable to this artificially lit limbo. She sighed and threw herself back onto the bed. Again, the dreams returned to her, but now they were lucid. Her brother had been restored to his kingdom and he was glaring at her. Elena stood near him, looking at her as if she were a beggar. Adeladja asked why Feliks wouldn't greet her, but her normally talkative brother only raised his chin and looked down at her.

"Why don't you answer me? How can you sit there and ignore me like this?" Adeladja found herself sobbing and clinging to the skirts of the maid watching her. The maid got up and went to the door to speak with someone. They think I'm mad, Adeladja thought dully, as she knelt before the empty chair. Maybe I am going mad and what will that do to the Poles in Prussia?

The maid returned to her seat, and shortly thereafter, the door opened and another maid entered with a large box. She placed it on the bed and opened it. Adeladja slowly rose and went over to look at it. Among sheets of tissue lay a magnificent dark red silk dinner dress. She caressed the gleaming fabric, catching her breath. It would be marvelous to wear, she thought, but she knew where it would lead her. Yet she couldn't take the blank walls and silence anymore; she would go and see him.

As the maids tightened her corset and added her petticoats and bustle, Adeladja breathed deeply. She gathered her strength, trying to stay still as the mortals hooked up the dress. She was going to see him, and she bit at her inner lips until she could taste metal and salt. If he dared to humiliate or attack her, she decided, she would fight back and demand that he treat her with the respect due at least to a maid. When one of the women went to the door and a footman wheeled in her dressing mirror, Adeladja gasped. She had been living only with her own memories of her appearance from the past. Seeing herself corseted, bustled and gowned in rustling red was like looking at a stranger. She peered closer as the women finished putting red crystal strawberries in her hair. She saw shadowed cheekbones and wary eyes: she was not the round-faced maiden who danced through her mind. She looked adult, embittered. _He has done this to me,_ she thought, _and I must act the part._ She drew herself up, held her chin high, smoothed the tight-fitting bodice over her corseted body and glided after the footman, armed for battle.

**What do you think is going on with Adeladja's illness and final thoughts at her appearance? And more important, what do you think is waiting for her? I think some of you will like who shows up next week ;). And by the way, 40 reviews for this story makes me so happy! Thank you, my dedicated readers! I really appreciate your reviews and thoughts!**

1 Polish: Stupid, stupid, stupid


	11. Chapter 11 Her Entertainment

**Chapter 11 Her Entertainment**

As Adeladja followed the footman to the secret door, she felt her legs shake and her heart beat faster. As her courage faded, she wondered if her legs were about to give way and she would pass out. What if he were planning some cruel punishment behind the door? What if he were going to act as if the disastrous kiss had never happened? What if she couldn't control her nerves and she got sick all over her beautiful red gown? She heard his hissing laugh and wondered what had prompted it. She took several deep breaths and entered the room.

Prussia and another man were sipping beer while waiting for her. The other man was taller and broader in the shoulders than Prussia and dressed in the formal blue tunic of a junior officer. His golden hair was slicked back with pomade and it shone in the gas-lit chandelier's light. When he looked at her, she saw blue eyes like glass, clear yet hard to was dressed in the flashy black and silver uniform of the First Life Hussars and it suited his pale skin and silver hair very well. He smiled and greeted Adeladja by taking her arm and leading her to the other man.

"Adeladja, you are a sight for sore eyes!" She couldn't fathom how he could say that with a straight face, acting as if she had been out of town and not locked in her room. "Ludwig," he turned to the blond man. "May I introduce Fraulein Adeladja Konstancja Łukasiewicz of Danzig, an actress of stunning beauty and talent who has arrived to conquer Berlin." He turned to her, a knowing smile on his lips. "And Adeladja, may I please introduce my brother, Ludwig Bielschmidt. _Das Deutsche Kaiserreich, _if you will."

Adeladja offered her hand and Ludwig stiffly bowed over it and kissed the air above her hand. Closer up, she could still see traces of baby fat in his face and slightly prominent ears. It made him seem a little less intimidating.

"So _Bruderchen_, what do you think of our lovely guest?" Prussia practically vibrated with high spirits.

"I think she _is _Danzig, Bruderherz." The younger man spoke in a deep voice and gazed at Adeladja. She saw him blush under slightly tan skin.

Prussia turned to Adeladja with a proud smile that reached his eyes. "He's so smart! I thought I could trick him, but he has an uncanny sense for things. And speaking of a senses, you seem cold, _Liebling." _He gently squeezed her shivering upper arm. "I'll get a footman to fetch you a shawl."

Adeladja was surprised that he would be so thoughtful but then reflected he had an audience. Still, she smiled and dipped a curtsey in thanks before Prussia instructed a waiting servant. When he returned and circled his arms around her bare shoulders, he murmured, "I'd drape myself around you to keep you warm, Fraulein, but I'm afraid the Empire would disapprove." Adeladja looked over at the Empire, whose deepening blush made him look like a ripe peach. She was starting to feel a little uncomfortable at Prussia's public affection herself, especially since she couldn't judge if it were meant to charm or show his dominance over her. Fortunately he slid away and returned to wrap her in a multicolored shawl that felt like a warm cloud. "It doesn't match your gown, Fraulein, but it should keep the chill away, ja?"

"It does very well. Danke, MeinHerr." When Adeladja smiled at him, she noted again how his returning grin reached his eyes and how genuinely _happy_ he looked. She felt her own smile widen as she said, "Besides, MeinHerr, who knows? Black shawls with silver braid and trim may be the fashion in the fall." She nodded and looked approvingly at his elegant uniform.

For a second, Prussia blushed and glanced down at his boots; she started to relax when he looked back at her with warm maroon irises. "Kesesesese," he laughed and squeezed her upper arm appreciatively. "Come, sit." He led her to a chair at the table and she smiled gratefully at him as he helped her settle in. Ludwig sat across from her and Prussia seated himself at the head of the table to preside as host.

Adeladja spent the meal enjoying the food and wine and watching the interaction between the two brother-nations. Ludwig was serious and deliberate in his words, at least until he had had a couple of glasses of Rhenish wine. He blushed easily and frequently, especially since Prussia kept praising him to her. "He's so smart, Adeladja," he exclaimed after Ludwig had made some points about the role of artillery in the North American Civil War," that's why he's in the Engineer Corps. I thought he would make a wonderful _Kürassier_1because he's so tall and strong, look at him!" Ludwig looked down and mumbled something about lacking his brother's flair and courage.

"Nonsense, Ludwig." Prussia leaned towards Adeladja, cheeks flushed scarlet with drink. "I found him at Leipzig2, this ragged little boy toddling around all the carnage after the battle. So I called him in all the languages I knew, but he would only answer to German. I inched over, and offered him some rations, and the rascal came and took it and inspected it with those serious eyes. Then he looked up at me, took my hand and I led him back to camp." Prussia's energy had softened with his eyes and voice. "I know I looked a sight, all dirty and bloody, but he didn't cry or act frightened at all. And so I took him in and raised him." He then turned to Adeladja and she noted that his eyes were a soft burgundy. "And now look at him_, mein Bruderchen_, an empire." He lifted his glass in Ludwig's direction and Ludwig smiled and blushed.

She felt a pang of wistfulness as she watched the two brother nations talk easily with one another, laughing at family jokes. She had had that with her siblings, and now all three of them were scattered. She put down her wine, afraid that one more glass would make it easier to lose control and weep. She didn't know what Feliks was suffering, and she didn't know if Elena were comfortable or in the same situation as she. She had not been allowed pen and paper since she had returned from Mecklenburg-Schwerin and she had not received replies to the letters she had sent in the fall. I need to write them again, she thought. Even if they couldn't be candid, even if they had to lie to each other, at least she would have something tangible to hold and look at, something that they had also touched.

"Why so melancholy, Fraulein?" Prussia's voice slid into her memories. "I thought drink was supposed to make Poles merry!" Germany's eyes darted between his brother and Adeladja, unsure of how to react.

"I was just thinking of what a blessing family is," Adeladja said softly. She looked at both brothers. "How having siblings is like membership in a secret society, where every word and gesture has a meaning no outsider can truly know. And no one, not even our closest friends or lovers or spouses, can ever master that language."

The table grew quiet. Germany looked at her with new interest and nodded slowly. Prussia stared at his wine glass and traced a pattern on the tablecloth. He then looked up at her with his usual grin but it did not reach his eyes. "Ja," he said simply. He stood up. "And on that note, I think we should move to the music room." He offered Adeladja his arm and escorted her and his brother through the salon and halls to a medium-sized room decorated in white and gold with mirrors reflecting the lamps. A piano was placed at one end and settees and chairs were arranged as if for a small concert.

"Wait." Prussia paused and looked at the other two mischievously. "I have a little gift for you, Adeladja. I should have presented it to you earlier, but your words distracted me. Close your eyes."

Adeladja paused. What was he going to do to her? She thought that Germany's presence had acted like a chaperone's, but now she feared being alone with the two brothers. She looked at the Empire and thought he looked as confused as she felt. For some reason that reassured her and she closed hers.

She felt something supple and smooth circle her neck. Prussia's fingers pressed gently on her nape as he closed some kind of fixture. She heard a tiny click. He then took her hand and led her a few steps. "Open your eyes and take a look," he whispered.

Adeladja blinked and saw her reflection. She was now wearing a black choker with diamonds and rubies that caught the reflected light. She leaned closer and studied the elegant arrangement of the stones and realized that they were attached to fine kid leather. She had seen in the newspapers' fashion pages that women were wearing velvet chokers with cameos, but she had to admit that this was more valuable and striking than any she had ever seen. "It's lovely, MeinHerr Preußen." She turned and smiled at him. _"Vielen Danke."_

"_Gern geschehen,_3_"_he replied, sliding his arm around her waist. "_Bruderchen_," he said to Germany, "Adeladja and I had a little spat, so I wanted to show her that all is forgiven and we are friends again." Adeladja blushed at the reference to their last encounter. Prussia squeezed her. "Isn't she lovely? Such a small waist—a few more inches and I think I can span it with my hands!" Her blush deepened with humiliation as he spoke about her in that way.

"I think that would be too much, _Bruderherz_. It would be—disproportionate." The Empire looked embarrassed.

"Well, sure, if she were some beer hall girl from München," Prussia sniffed. "But Adeladja is elegantly built, she can bear it. Ja, my little _szlachta_4?" He winked at her and Adeladja smiled weakly. She was already fearing how much more her waist would be compressed. "Why don't you admire yourself for a bit, while we have a little schnapps and smoke at the other end? _Wir kommen wieder._5_" _He and his brother sauntered to the end of the room, leaving her near the piano.

Adeladja turned back to the mirror, studying the necklace. This must have been very expensive, she thought, and she immediately reproached herself for thinking like a kept woman. But still, as she studied it, she could see that the stones and craftsmanship were high quality. She liked how the leather warmed to her body temperature_. _As she traced her fingers along the choker, she felt for the closure. It felt odd and flat; when she tugged and twisted at it, it wouldn't move. Then she felt a very smooth metallic surface. She carefully dragged her finger across it and felt tiny raised disks at each end. She checked the mirror; Prussia and Germany were engrossed in conversation. She turned the back of the choker towards the front and saw a lock with a keyhole and a flat silver name plate. She only needed a few seconds to figure out what the reversed lettering said:

Gilbert Bielschmidt, Preußen

Stadtschlosse, Berlin

She felt sick to her stomach. What a fool I am, she thought, simpering thanks and thinking that he could do anything kind without some cruel twist to it! A red wave of rage and shame ran up her chest and neck. She felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes and she dabbed at them with her gloves' fingertips. Stop it, she thought. Be furious, be without tears. She quickly adjusted the collar back to its original position and fanned at herself to cool down.

"Adeladja, _Liebling_, time for music." Prussia and Germany came back to her side of the room. "Did you miss us?" Prussia leaned into her neck to nuzzle her and she could smell the liquor and tobacco on his breath. In the mirror, she could see Germany watching the two of them; he cast down his eyes as his brother kissed her above the collar. He must have seen the nameplate and lock and had enough decency to feel some embarrassment or pity for her.

Prussia led her to the piano. "Well, pick out some sheet music and play for us!"

Adeladja kept her gaze fixed on the keys. "MeinHerr Preußen, I don't play the piano."

"_Wat_?" Prussia gasped. He looked at her as if she were an expensive new horse who had turned out to be lame. "You said you could play!"

"I did not say I could play the _piano_, MeinHerr." Adeladja enjoyed how flustered he seemed.

"Then what do you play, Fraulein?"

She turned to face them. "I play the harp, _Meine Herren_."

Germany looked genuinely impressed. Prussia looked stunned, then recovered his composure. "The harp! _Wie elegant!_6Quite the rage in the Napoleonic era, if I recall." He turned to his brother. "Does anyone still compose music for the harp_, Bruderchen_?"

Germany began ticking off his fingers. "Oberthür, Cramer, Bochsa, Alvar—"

"-Ja, ja, ja." Prussia waved his hand dismissively. "Maybe there's one in storage somewhere. Or maybe we should get you one, Adeladja. Would you like that?"

"Of course, MeinHerr." Adeladja forced herself to smile. She told herself not to expect anything to come of the offer, or worse, prepare for another humiliating condition attached to his gift.

"Then you must play, _Bruderchen_." Prussia turned to his younger brother and gestured towards the piano bench. "Ludwig is not only an engineer and soldier, but also a composer. And he plays excellently!" He smiled fondly as the younger nation selected some sheet music and seated himself.

"You flatter me, _Bruderherz. __Ich habe Wurstfingern._7" Germany looked sadly down at his large, broad hands.

"Pfft! You are a composer, a creator; you don't need girl hands like that performing monkey Austria. So, what shall you play for us?"

"_Loreley." _Germany played the opening chords and began to sing the lyrics of the Heine poem. Adeladja was struck by the warmth and resonance of his baritone; it reminded her of hunting horns, baying hounds, and the woods in autumn. When he finished, both she and Prussia burst into applause.

"He's good, isn't he?" Prussia leaned in to whisper to her. She nodded in agreement, touched to see his obvious affection for the younger nation. Germany played a couple of etudes and then turned to his audience. "Time for you two to do some entertaining," he said.

"Adeladja shall sing for us!" Prussia said. He nudged her over to Germany's side. "Pick a song for her_, Bruderchen_." Adeladja and Ludwig conferred briefly over the sheet music, found the correct key and she sang:

_Mein Herz ist wie die dunkle Nacht,_

_Wenn alle Wipfel rauschen;_

_Da steigt der Mond in voller Pracht_

_Aus Wolken sacht,_

_Und sieh, - der Wald verstummt in tiefem Lauschen._

_Der Mond, der helle Mond bist du:_

_Aus deiner Liebesfülle_

_Wirf einen, einen Blick mir zu _

_Voll Himmelsruh',_

_Und sieh, dies ungestüme Herz - wird stille_8_._

As she sang the first stanza, Adeladja felt her heart was a haunted wood, abandoned by all life but the wind winding through the branches. But at the second stanza, as she sang about the moon casting a calming light upon the forest, she felt angry. She did _not _feel love and peace as silvery-haired Prussia smirked at her. There was _no_ abundance of love coming from him, only bait that tricked her into traps of humiliation. By the end of the song, her voice was shaking and she was clenching her fists.

The two male nations were silent. Germany looked up at her, brows raised. "That was a unique interpretation of the song, Fraulein," he said cautiously. He looked at his brother.

"I think you might need to work on your breath control and modulation, Adeladja," Prussia said, his face a cool mask. Then he brightened. "Since Fraulein has so much pent-up energy, how about if we end with something spirited? I choose!" He riffled through the sheet music, discarding rejects onto the carpeted floor. Then he placed one triumphantly before his brother. "There! It's a duet, so you must sing with me, Adeladja." He drew her closer so they could read the lyrics and their parts.

_Es taget vor dem Walde,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn!  
Die hasen laufen balde,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn, holder Buehl!  
Heiahô, du bist mîn, sô bin ich dîn,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn!_

Prussia took the lead, with Adeladja echoing his lines. She had to admit that he had an excellent tenor voice, supple with a bit of an edge to it to keep it from sounding too pretty.

_Es taget in der Aue,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn!  
Schöns Lieb, lass' dich anschauen,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn, holder Buehl!  
Heiahô, du bist mîn, sô bin ich dîn,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn!_

At the line, "My pretty love, let's look at you" Prussia glanced sideways at Adeladja and almost made her forget her place. The look was disturbing, as if he wanted to caress and eat her at the same time.

_Es taget vor dem Holze,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn!  
Die Jäger hürnen Stolze,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn, holder Buehl!  
Heiahô, du bist mîn, sô bin ich dîn,  
Stand ûf, Kätterlîn!_9

As they sang, he had drawn her closer to him, until their hips pressed against each other. Well, that's how it will end, she thought bitterly, he the conqueror and she the invaded. As the last notes of their voices and the piano echoed, she looked up at their reflections in the mirrored wall. Such a pretty, well-ordered image of a musical evening, she thought. If only it showed all the cruelty, deception, and resentment bubbling underneath.

"So!" Prussia surveyed the scene. "We have an early morning. We have some meetings with our leaders about the reparations that rascal France owes us. I shall escort Fraulein to her room, and you need to turn in also, _Bruderchen."_

"It was a pleasure to meet you." Germany leapt to his feet and bowed as his older brother led Adeladja to the salon's door.

"And you, MeinHerr Deutschland. Good night." She curtseyed and glided out on Prussia's arm.

"So, do you like him?" Prussia asked as they walked down the hall.

"You should be very proud of him." She said. She was afraid of making him angry or jealous.

"I am." Something about the older nation's voice reminded her of Feliks's when he had said farewell to her. Sad and proud, she thought. Just before they reached the salon door where the footman was waiting, Prussia drew a finger down her check and slid it about the collar. She steeled herself. "Do you like your gift, Adeladja?" He whispered.

She felt her earlier anger and embarrassment return. She cast her eyes down so he couldn't see her true emotions. Even when he took her chin and forced her to look at him, she darted them to the side. "It is too expensive a gift for me to accept, MeinHerr," she muttered.

"I didn't ask you to guess its cost, Adeladja. Do you like it?" Prussia's fingers gripped her chin and he peered keenly into his eyes. For a second, she considered lying, just to escape, but she couldn't bring herself to let him think she enjoyed being tricked and insulted.

Adeladja inhaled and steadied her shaking body. She forced herself to stare back at him. "I am not worthy of such a gift, MeinHerr." There, she thought, he wasn't the only one who could give every gesture and statement a second meaning.

Prussia's smirk stayed the same, but his eyes hardened. "I beg to disagree, Fraulein," he said coolly. "I think it suits you quite well." Then his face brightened. "Let's end our evening on a good note, ja?" Suddenly he leaned in and tried to kiss her. Adeladja turned her face away in disgust. He kept trying to land his lips on her cheeks or mouth, and she kept avoiding him. Finally, he gripped her cheeks with both hands and pulled her in. Even as his lips met hers, Adeladja clamped them shut, shuddering with revulsion. Finally, thankfully, he pulled away. When Adeladja looked at him, she saw surprise and hurt flicker in red-violet irises before they turned hard ruby again. "Very well, Fraulein. _Gute Nacht._" He bowed stiffly before her, clicked his boot heels, spun and stalked off.

Adeladja smiled at her little victory and then recalled that he could wreak all sorts of revenge upon her. Exhausted, she sank down upon her vanity chair and let her maid prepare her for bed. The mortal struggled with the choker and finally sighed, "Fraulein, _es tut mir leid,_ but it is locked. I cannot remove it." After she left, Adeladja yanked and twisted the leather and tried the lock with various pins, until tears ran into her mouth, open in a silent scream.

Finally defeated, she sobbed into her pillow and an unpleasant sleep as she mumbled to herself, "My heart is like the dark night." She dreamt of the moon darting in and out of clouds while somewhere a wolf howled.

* * *

**What do you think of Prussia's behavior towards Adeladja in this scene? How about his gift? And what do you think of Adeladja's reaction to such a gift? How about Ludwig as a young nation/man? How many of you recognize the song Adeladja sings and its reappearance? There may be a one-shot prize for the first reviewer who recognizes Adeladja's song and another time Prussia/Gilbert heard it. :)**

1 German: Curassier. Heavy cavalry.

2 Battle of Leipzig 16-19 October 1813, when Napoleon was defeated by the Sixth Coalition, an alliance of European powers that included Prussia. This Coalition eventually led to Napoleon's final defeat and exile and two years later the German Confederation would be created at the Congress of Vienna.

3 German: My pleasure

4 Szlachta: the class of Polish landowners equivalent to the English gentry. _Szlachta _could range from wealthy powerful lords (the equivalent of British peers) to well-bred but land-poor members of this class. Danzig's Polish magnates were _szlachta_. Poland and his sisters would have socialized and worked with the _szlachta_ since they elected the Polish king and exercised a lot of political power.

5 German: We'll be right back

6 German: How elegant!

7 German: I have sausage fingers

8 Lyrics by Emanuel von Geibel (1815-1884) , no title, from _Jugendgedichte_, in 1. _Erstes Buch_, in _Lieder als Intermezzo_, no. 13

My heart is like the dark night,

when all the treetops rustle;

There rises the moon in full splendour

from among clouds softly,

and behold, the forest grows silent in deep listening.

The moon, the bright moon are you:

In your abundance of love

cast a glance to me

full of heavenly peace,

and behold, this unquiet heart becomes still.

Translation from German to English by Carl Johengen, carl . Ludwig would have played the latest setting by by (Friedrich) August Bungert (1845-1915) , "Mein Herz ist wie die dunkle Nacht", op. 1 (_Junge Lieder : Erstes Buch_) no. 2, published 1870 [voice and piano], Leipzig, Breitkopf und Härtel. All this information came from Ezust, Emily. _The Lied, Art Song and Choral Text Archive. _REC Music Foundation. 2012. Web. 16 February 2012

9 The song's composition is attributed to Ludwig Senfl (C. 1486-1543). The translation is by Curtis Clark. "Es Taget vor dem Walde." _Internet Renaissance Band_. 1999. Web. 16 February 2012. The complete translation is as follows:

Daybreak in the woods.  
Wake up, Kathleen!  
Soon the hares will run.  
Wake up, Kathleen, sweet love!  
Hy-a-ho, you are mine, thus I am thine,  
Wake up, Kathleen!

Daybreak in the meadow  
Wake up, Kathleen!  
My pretty love, let's look at you,  
Wake up, Kathleen, sweet love!  
Hy-a-ho, you are mine, thus I am thine,  
Wake up, Kathleen!

Daybreak in the forest.  
Wake up, Kathleen!  
The hunters proudly carry the antlers.  
Wake up, Kathleen, sweet love!  
Hy-a-ho, you are mine, thus I am thine,  
Wake up, Kathleen!


	12. Chapter 12 His Realization

**Chapter 12 His Realization**

**A little brotherly bonding AND Prussia finally gets a clue.**

He had hated how she had looked at him. Gilbert recalled Danzig's resigned, sullen stare after he had finally kissed her. It reminded him of Lisette, the only greyhound bitch of Old Fritz's that had never liked him. The king had tried to bring the dog and nation together, forcing the little dog to stay in his arms as Gilbert petted her. And Lisette had looked at him with the same expression of long-suffering resentment. She always slunk away from him when she could and took treats reluctantly from his hand. When she died, the king had wept, but Gilbert had been relieved. And now, _his_ new pet, the city of Danzig, had acted as if his gift and kisses were as repulsive as if he had been a fat, mustachioed, bald tradesman. He had been tempted to throw her against the wall and remind her of what she was and how she had better play nicely, but something had stopped him. He was not only angry, but hurt; he had felt a sharp stab in his heart at her expression and the fight had gone out of him. He had just wanted to leave, before he had experienced a total defeat.

"Your turn, _Bruderherz_." Ludwig's voice brought him back to the card table. Gilbert scanned his cards, made his move, and watched as Germany won another trick. "At this rate, I might actually beat you for once," Ludwig smiled. Gilbert shrugged and mumbled that he should enjoy it while he had the chance.

Ludwig put his hand down. "You're usually much better at _Klabberjass_ than this, Gilbert.1 What's bothering you?"

Gilbert paused, taking a drag on his cigarillo. Ludwig was naïve and inexperienced, but he could be surprisingly sensible. He studied the blue smoke's trail, his mind racing to knit truths and half-truths into a disguise for his real concern. He put his cards down and looked into his younger brother's eyes. He was ready.

"It's Komet," he began, referring to the Trakehner horse he had received from the Kaiser last year. "The silly beast has taken a dislike to me and he's becoming impossible to handle. I don't want to sell him—the Kaiser would be offended—but I'm at a crossroads about what to do with him."

Germany leaned forward, his pale blue eyes sparkling. Gilbert knew how his brother loved dogs and horses and was fascinated with how their minds worked and which training methods were best. "When did this happen?"

Gilbert sighed. "Everything had been going nicely with his training, so I thought I'd take him for a ride in the Tiergarten. Remember that sudden thunderstorm a few weeks ago?" Ludwig nodded. "Well, I dismounted to take care of some business, and I had the reins tethered to a bush. There's only a rumble of thunder and Komet spooks. Worse, he tangles his forelegs in the reins and gets even more terrified. I turn around to see him and think, 'Mein Gott, he's going to break a leg and I have no way to put him out of his misery or get back to the stables.' So I go over to release him, but he starts rearing and making things worse. I _finally_ get his legs free, but he's ready to bolt, so I keep tugging at the reins and telling him to calm down. Then," he looked down at his hand, "I just lost my temper and smacked him about the head and neck." He looked up as remorsefully as he could about a lie. "From that day since, he's been hand-shy. The grooms can barely get him bridled and when he sees me, he dances and spooks and I have to have two men hold him so I can mount him. It's embarrassing."

Ludwig clicked his tongue. "This is not good. You can never lose your temper with a horse, even in the worst circumstances." Gilbert bristled; he knew that. He had learned to ride from Hungary when they had both thought she was a boy. He had ridden countless horses on marches and into battles. He didn't need Ludwig to state the obvious.

"So I did. We can't turn back the clock and have me do things differently _then_," he said. "What I want to know is what do I do _now_, to get Komet back to being handled and ridden without tying him down everytime he gets tacked up?"

"Patience," Ludwig said. "You can't continue with force. He's already scared and more ropes and scolding will only make it worse. Face the fact that you need to go back to treating him like a colt who hasn't been under saddle yet." Gilbert rolled his eyes and huffed, as if he really were frustrated that he could not continue with working on the horse's extended trot.

Ludwig ignored him, his own mind roving over his equitation lessons and the books he devoured on the various schools of horsemanship. "Ja, go back to the simplest steps. Get a groom to work with you. When Komet is eating, start a loud discussion. Raise your voices, wave your arms, drop things, but keep an eye on him. When he startles, ignore him. When he calms down and returns to his feed, speak softly and praise him. Then he'll learn that the noises have nothing to do with him and he'll grow indifferent to them. When that happens consistently, start to talk to him and pet him. If he spooks at your hand, don't scold him. When you can finally raise a hand near him and he doesn't startle, praise him with soft words and a treat. I know many trainers frown on that, but it will help him get used to you and see your hands are good things. When you can stroke his head and neck, then it's time to get him used to the bridle again. Again, go slowly, don't let him hurt himself or anybody, and praise him for being so brave when you raise your hand—"

"Mein Gott, this will take forever," Gilbert grumbled. He knew patience was key with horses, but he had been patient long enough. He had been patient for almost three hundred years, waiting for Danzig to come back within his grasp. Now he had to grind his pace down to the simplest steps?

Germany stopped and stared at him. Gilbert glowered back; his brother's disapproving stare reminded him too much of the Province of Hannover or the Kingdom of Saxony. "You lost your temper and those few seconds of beating your horse cost you a year's worth of training," Ludwig said. "They may be dumb brutes, but they have memory, the capacity to learn and he learned that he couldn't trust you to stay calm when he was frightened. So ja, _Bruder_, you must go back to the simplest steps to get him over his fear before you can continue with the rest of your training."

"It's embarrassing. There are horses his age at the _Seegershof_ already doing shoulder-in, and I'll be treating him like a green colt fresh off the stud."2

Ludwig shrugged, his pale eyes inscrutable. "You need to start with where the horse is, not where you think he should be. Komet needs to learn the very basic lesson that an upraised hand will not hurt him, that you are not going to beat him, and then you can proceed with the rest. Now," he sipped his beer, "once you can get a bridle on him for the first time again without any fuss, praise him lavishly, take it off and be content. If you feel yourself growing angry or impatient, go back to the previous step. Don't let him learn that acting up takes the pressure off, but praise him when he calms down. If you have to spend the whole morning getting a bridle on him, that's what you do. Stay patient, praise and reward him, and make that the day's lesson. Then do it again the next day and the next, until he will learn to accept the bridle again without any trouble. When you're able to get a bridle and saddle on him again, then you can work on reminding him of his manners when you are ready to mount him. Now according to the masters…"

Gilbert turned inward as his brother droned on about what the Duke of Newcastle, de la Guérinière and Seeger had to say about acclimating young horses to standing still while being mounted for the first time.3 As Ludwig moved on to complaining about Baucher's ideas of creating lightness in a horse ("How can you expect a horse to move forward willingly when your hands are holding him back and your legs are driving him forward? That is ridiculous. Now Steinbrecht told me…"), he felt his heart sink4. He had honestly thought that once they had gotten rid of Danzig's virginity, she would be calmer and ready for pleasure. But he had handled it all wrong; his mistake would cost him many nights of the simplest gestures to overcome her fear and distrust of him. And even then there would be no guarantee that she would ever forget his harshness and impatience. He recalled Lisette, and the little greyhound's lifelong dislike of him, and he sighed.

Finally, Ludwig stopped. Gilbert shook his head and looked at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I was just thinking of all the time those few minutes in the Tiergarten will cost me. I already have enough demands and—"

"Then give me Komet." Ludwig's eyes twinkled at the prospect of working with the horse. "It won't insult the Kaiser and—"

"Komet is too small and fine-boned to be a good mount for you. You'd look like you're riding a pony." Gilbert snapped. His brother drew back, offended. "I'm sorry, Ludi," Gilbert raced on, "I can do this, I'm willing to do it. I just have to make the time and remind myself it will be worth it because he is such a fine horse and will be worth the trouble."

"Hmmm." Ludwig studied him. _More of the Saxony face,_ Gilbert thought. "If you insist. Keep me informed of your progress, ja?" Gilbert nodded and Germany relaxed. A small smile played about his lips. "I'm flattered and a little surprised that you would ask my advice, Gilbert," he said. "After all, you trained falcons and eagles. They are essentially wild creatures that can take to the skies, unlike a dog or horse. How did you manage to train them? Did you handle the hatchlings from the very start?"

"Nein, we didn't always breed them." Gilbert said. He took another drag off his cigarillo. "We actually trapped them wild, when they were barely adult." He smiled, remembering his days as the Teutonic Order. Searching for young raptors had been one of his favorite tasks. He and an older mortal would cast nets on unsuspecting young birds, and he was responsible for carrying the stunned falcon or hawk about. He kept it close to his body, letting it grow acclimated to human contact and sounds, becoming its food source like its own mother—

He froze. If Ludwig had not been there, he would have smacked his forehead with his palm. Of course! He knew what to do! If Poland called himself the White Eagle, what did that make his sister? He looked back at his brother and smiled.

"You have given me excellent advice, _Bruderchen_," he said warmly. Germany had done just that, and he had also reminded him of his own way of taming wild creatures. He could combine the two approaches, and if he could control himself, Danzig would be his, as loyal and willing as any creature he had ever owned. He grabbed the cards and shuffled them. "Now how about another round of _Klabberjass__,_ ja?"

**Yes, we're about to see a change in Gilbert's approach towards Adeladja! I know I have at least one horse person reading, so what do you think of Ludwig's advice? And my other readers, what do you think of it, and of the relationship between the two brothers? Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

1 A Northern German trick-taking card game for two to four players.

2 Seegershof was a famous riding school in 19th c. Berlin. "Shoulder-in" is a lateral movement used in dressage (the art of classical horsemanship)used to supple and balance the horse and encourage use of the hindquarters.

3 All three men were masters and writers of classical horsemanship. William Cavendish, the Duke of Newcastle (1592-1676) was an Englishman. François Roubichon de la Guérinière (1688-1751) was a French riding master credited with creating the shoulder-in exercise. Louis Seeger (1799-1861) was a Prussian riding instructor who opened the Seegershof as the first private riding school in Berlin. He was opposed to the Frenchman Baucher's methods of training horses in classical dressage and developed an alternative system of training that influenced later German dressage masters such as Steinbrecht.

4 François Baucher (1796-1873), a French riding instructor whose methods are still hotly debated in classical dressage circles today. Gustav Steinbrecht (1808-1885)was a German riding instructor who succeeded Seeger at the _Seegershof_ and whose maxim "ride the horse forward and straight" is the foundation of modern German dressage. He was strongly opposed to Baucher's ideas of training, seeing them as harsh, contradictory and producing spiritless, heavy horses.


	13. Chapter 13 His Tactics

**Chapter 13 His Tactics**

**Long, but important and worth it. I also want to thank KorosuKa and Gort for the corrections to the Polish. Enjoy!**

Adeladja had a few nights of peace, eating in her room. But after her maids dressed her in a sapphire gown, and as she followed the footman to Prussia's rooms, her stomach churned. Between the last dinner with Prussia, the tight lacing, and her anxiety, she didn't think she could keep any food down. As she entered and sat at her place, she forced herself to breathe deeply to keep from fainting. Prussia seemed unconcerned, of course, busily talking about how she had pleased the German Empire, how proud he was of Ludwig, and his day's business. When he finished eating and gestured for her to follow him into the parlor, she stayed in her chair. She wouldn't come to him to be mauled, or worse, punished for her refusal to kiss him last time. She might be forced to wear his collar, but she would not submit to it.

Prussia sat on the sofa and patted it. Adeladja stared back at him. _Come and get me_, she dared him. Her muscles tensed in expectation of his anger and force.

To her surprise, Prussia shrugged, pulled an envelope from within his military tunic and waved it. "Look what I have," he purred. He skimmed the front, eyes widening with mock surprise. "Ach, it's for you, Adeladja." She half-rose out of her chair, daring to hope. He read the back. "It's from Elena Łukasiewicz , Wien, Österreich. Does that name ring a bell?" He winked at her, and Adeladja's heart surged.

She walked into the parlor and stood before him. Was this a trick? He smiled up at her, dangling the letter within her grasp. When she reached for it, he pulled his arm back."_Bitte,_ MeinHerr, _bitte_ let me read it!" She pleaded.

"You can read it, but you need to come sit on my lap_, Liebling_," he replied. Adeladja paused; it was a trick after all, she realized. Nothing came freely from him, but she finally decided the letter was worth the cost. She sat gingerly on his knee, took the letter and read it out loud.

Elena was well. She was a lady-in-waiting to Hungary, yet Elizabeta treated her more like a friend than courtier. They rode together, dined with Herr Österreich and enjoyed musical evenings with him. She had met the Empress Elizabeth and was delighted with her beauty and friendship with Hungary. She had heard briefly from Feliks; he said he was doing as well as could be expected. They both wondered about her and wanted to hear about how she was doing.

Adeladja looked at Prussia. She had sent a couple of letters to her siblings; surely they had reached them by now. He shrugged. "We all have secret police and censors, _Liebling,"_ he said. "Maybe the Austrians or Russians found something suspicious in your letters." He raised an eyebrow at her and Adeladja shook her head. "You saw my letters," she replied, "and you approved them!"

"Ja," he admitted. "But I don't know what Ivan or Roderich decide sensitive information to be." He wrapped his arms around her hip and shoulder and pulled her closer to him. Adeladja tensed and wiggled, but his fingers pressed into her flesh. He held her so closely that there was nowhere else to go but further against his chest and stomach. She stopped, heart pounding in suspense of his next move. "You can't say I didn't keep my word, Adeladja," he whispered.

"You did, MeinHerr," she murmured. She dreaded what he would do next, based on past experience.

"And didn't I keep my word to you, your brother, Austria and Hungary about the agreement forged at the Vienna Congress?" He said. Adeladja nodded reluctantly. "Did I ever come to Danzig and force myself on you?"

"Nein, MeinHerr," she admitted.

"Then if I tell you something now, will you believe me?" He whispered. His mouth was close to her neck and his warm breath blew on it, sending a rush through her.

"I would have to hear it first, MeinHerr."

He chuckled and squeezed her slightly. "_Moja ostrożna, sprytna dziewczyna_," he murmured and Adeladja blinked at his perfect Polish.1 She shouldn't be surprised, she reminded herself. He had served her brother and lived so closely to them that of course he would know their language. It felt so good to hear the familiar sounds and cadences, compliments of her prudence and intelligence, just as she had heard from her mortal rulers during the Hanseatic days. But she couldn't relax because of who was saying them.

"_Moja słodka dziewzyna, moja kochane miasto_," he continued in Polish**.**2"Sit here with me a bit. I'm not going to hurt or insult you. I give you my word." When he stroked her chin and tried to turn her head to face him, she stiffened her neck and clutched her sister's letter as tightly as a falcon clinging to its prey. "_Ciii, kochanie,_ enjoy your letter, hang on to it if it comforts you." 3 His breath was hotter and closer towards her neck; she tensed, even as she found his language comforting. His right hand pressed into her thigh as his left stroked her cheek and loose curls.

"Read it as many times as you like. Isn't it good that your sister is doing well? Wouldn't you like to tell her the same? Tell her that Prussia has given you splendid rooms, clothes and jewelry. Tell her about the lovely evening we had and how you impressed the German Empire. You can even tell your brother that he doesn't have to worry about your health and safety, that _wszystko jest w porządku__."_4

Adeladja bit her lips. It wasn't true, of course; she remembered his past attempts and violence, and she didn't think he would allow her to tell Feliks and Elena that. But hearing her own language felt so good, like a warm blanket from her childhood wrapped around her shoulders. She wanted to believe him, she really did, but she knew what happened whenever she relaxed around him.

"K_ochanie, mój klejnocie Bałtyku,"_ Prussia crooned. 5 She shivered, even though it was spring and the room was a pleasant temperature. Adeladja looked over her sister's letter, examining each curve and swoop of the penmanship. It was definitely Elena's, down to the pious wish at the end. Prussia had not fooled her with a fake, she decided. Of course Krakow would have more freedom to write than Feliks, she thought. Ivan had come down hard on him after the last rebellion. Still, she was glad that Elena was safe and happy, that her hand had touched the paper as she had written her words. Involuntarily, she pressed the paper to her lips, imagining her sister's cheek, her sweet hopeful blue eyes gazing up at her.

"_Taka dobra siostra_," Prussia whispered, still holding her.6 Her muscles ached from the effort of holding herself apart from him. The moment she felt her shoulder lean against his, she tried to bolt upright again, but he squeezed her to him gently. "Shhhh, shhh," he murmured, a warm breeze against her throat, "Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise." She couldn't trust him, she knew she couldn't. Yet it sounded so good to hear such kind words in her language, and she was so tired of being on her guard. She gave up, leaning against him. _ I can always fight him off,_ she reasoned.

Prussia kept his hands pressed on her outer thigh and shoulder, only lightly playing with her hair's outer tendrils. "_Tak słodka, tak urocza,, tak godna adoracji_," he whispered against her neck.7

Adeladja chuckled bitterly. What flattery, she thought. She turned to look into his eyes. "Why so kind to me _now, _MeinHerr?"

Prussia's irises had deepened to a soft burgundy. She was intrigued by the shift in color. "Because I don't like to see you look so wary and bitter, Adeladja. We'll just sit together for a little longer." His warm lips were against her neck. His breath reverberated against her veins, sending a shiver up her spine."Shhh, shh, my girl," he continued in Polish, "just relax. Nothing bad will happen, I promise. Just be still. Read your letter. Relax."

Adeladja sighed, and then caught herself. A sigh was a sign of contentment, contentment meant she was pleased, and her being pleased would only lead to mischief. She tried to pull away, but Prussia gently pressed her back against himself. "You hate me, MeinHerr. You hate my brother and would punish him through me," she finally said.

"_Nie, nie_, Adeladja," he murmured, lips against her neck. She shivered again. "I don't hate _you_. Such a good girl, coming here to save her brother," he said in Polish. "Such a good sister," he sighed.

Adeladja closed her eyes to stop her tears and turned away. She had failed, she thought. Too late she had realized she had sold herself to Prussia, under vague conditions and now she would have to suffer the consequences. She knew now what the price of her brother's freedom from Prussia cost, and that was still no guarantee against Russia's cruelty. She couldn't save him unless she could beg Russia himself, and that could only happen if Prussia let her meet him when he visited with his mortals' Russian relatives. Even then they could refuse her.

"_Dłaczego płaczesz, kochanie?"_8Prussia tilted her chin to face him, and she was astonished to see how earnest he was. His hands were still placed respectably, and his use of her first language moved her.

"_Mój brat_," she whispered. 9 "Do you have any letters from him? Any news as to how he is doing?"

Prussia studied her, eyes surprisingly soft. "_Nie, kochanie_," he finally said. "But that could be Ivan's fault or his." He smiled tenderly at her, and for a second Adeladja wanted to rest her head against his shoulder. But then she remembered how swift and selfish he could be, and she resisted. "Ach, Adeldaja," he whispered, his lips against her neck, "Why are you so scared? I told you I wouldn't hurt you. I keep my word."

"Then let me go," she murmured, but he shook his head. "Nie, Adeladja," he replied. "Five more minutes and _then_ I will let you go." Adeladja resigned herself, watching the clock on the mantelpiece. She had never imagined five minutes could feel so long. Even the minute hand seemed to take forever to travel the clock's face. Yet Prussia still kept his hands on her outer thigh and shoulder, murmuring silly Polish endearments against her neck.

Five minutes later, he removed his hands. Adeladja got up from his lap, half-expecting him to grab and pull her down. He didn't, but watched her as she smoothed her dress.

"The footman will escort you back to your room." Prussia was back to speaking in German again. "Now go on," he said as he crossed his legs and reached over to the side table for a match for a cigar. "_Gute Nacht_."

Adeladja curtseyed and practically ran from the room. His new behavior was a trick, of course, she thought as she followed the footman. At some point, the kindness would end and she would be trapped. She would stay on her guard, she decided, as the maid undressed her. As she relaxed into her bed, she groaned at her aching shoulder and back muscles. Her wariness would outlast his newfound gentleness. And when he would strike, she would be ready. He was, after all, not a patient nation.

The next morning she heard a knock at the door as the maid finished styling her hair. Adeladja assumed it was another servant bringing her breakfast, so she gestured for her maid to get the door. The moment she saw Prussia grinning in her dressing table mirror, she froze. _M__ój Boże__,_ she groaned inwardly, what was he going to do to her?

"Come along, Schatz, we have a busy morning," he said, offering his hand to her. Adeladja looked up suspiciously. Normally her mornings were quiet and devoted to tea and newspapers.

"This is a surprise to me, MeinHerr Preußen," she said. "What is going on?"

"You're going to spend part of the day with me," he replied. "We have breakfast, meetings with some of my officers and ministers, lunch with the German Empire. And then I have to go to the Reichstag and you can rest up and dress for dinner."

Adeladja studied him and his outstretched hand. If he were telling the truth, the day would be safe; they would be amongst others. If he were lying, then who knows what mischief he had planned for her? She wavered, debating whether to go or refuse. _As if I actually have a choice,_ she smiled bitterly to herself, and she took his hand and rose up from her vanity stool.

The day went as he had told her it would. They breakfasted in what seemed to be Prussia's office, a large dark wood room with filled bookshelves, maps and portraits of Friedrich II and other Prussian royalty. Prussia sat down at a massive desk and read over reports as he sipped coffee and smoked a thin cigar. The tobacco bothered Adeladja, but she still managed to nibble a pastry and drink tea. She half-expected him to pounce on her or at least make her talk to him, but he seemed preoccupied with his papers. Good, she thought as she settled into her upholstered wingback chair, she could sit in her corner and keep an eye on him.

Mortals in military uniform came to the office and clustered around Prussia's desk, speaking with him. They were too far away for her to overhear and she wasn't interested in military matters anyway. Then those mortals left, and others in expensive tailored suits took their place, talking about Bismarck, opposition leaders, and upcoming business in the Reichstag. Adeladja grew bored and studied the mortals' faces and posture, as well as Prussia's. It was clear he was intelligent, even quick, she admitted. It was also clear that his mortals respected him, even feared him when his voice grew sharper and his eyes narrowed. But fondness, affection, liking? They laughed at his jokes, but it was subordinates' polite laughter_. Hmmmm_, she thought as she watched the mortals' faces shift to neutral on their way out of the office, _I don't feel so alone now._

She followed Prussia to another parlor, where a table was set for lunch. The German Empire was there, and surprised and pleased to see her. Adeladja tried to hide her smile at his blush. Again, she felt like an invisible spectator, dining on soup and poached fish as the two brothers discussed state affairs and what they were expected to do at the Reichtstag. Well, no one could call Prussia an idler, she thought as she sipped her tea.

Finally, the brothers rose and Prussia rang a bell for a footman to appear. "We're off to the Reichtstag, no place for a female," he declared; Ludwig looked apologetic. "Go rest and dress for dinner, Fraulein." She curtseyed, had her hand kissed by each nation, and followed the footman to her room. At least that was over, she thought as she rubbed her tense shoulders before lying down for a nap.

This time after dinner, Prussia had no letters to lure her into his lap. Adeladja scanned the dining room and parlor for escape routes and potential weaponry. She wondered if his gentlemanly façade would disappear if she refused to come with him to the sofa.

"_Chodź__ ze mną, kochanie_," he said, offering his hand.10 Adeladja remained seated and studied his expression, waiting for the rage to flash in his eyes. To her surprise, he inhaled deeply and stood still, studying her as if she were a wild creature. Finally, he spoke in Polish.

"Why so hesitant, Adeladja? Last night, you sat in my lap and nothing bad happened. And before that, we had had a lovely evening, and you were such good company. The German Empire and I were charmed by your intelligence and musicianship. I forgave you for your foolishness and I even gave you a splendid gift." Rage and shame flared up in Adeladja and she flushed under the hated collar. "Didn't I behave like a gentleman when I walked you back to your room?" He continued as he rested his hand on her shoulder. "And yet that look you gave me when I kissed you has bothered me ever since." She steeled herself for his grip to tighten and hurt. She couldn't look at him.

"_Kochanie_, I want you to be honest with me and tell me why you looked at me like that. I promise I will not punish you, even if your words hurt me." His voice grew softer. "Tell me what you really think of my gift."

Adeladja's eyes filled with tears. "I hate it," she finally whispered. Nothing happened. She turned to look at him, trembling with the effort to keep her tears at bay. "I hate it." She repeated.

Prussia looked astounded. "But why? It's very fashionable. I got it from the Imperial family's jeweler. He told me it's the latest style of necklace. What could you possibly dislike about it?"

Adeladja stared at him. _Mój__ Boże_, she thought, he really is a malicious trickster or he really is that dense! "It's not a necklace, it's a collar." She tried to keep her voice from wavering. "It has a nameplate on it and it is locked on my neck. I can't take it off. It's as if I were your dog. Why did you give me such a thing to wear?"

He blushed. "I thought it would look pretty on you," he muttered. "The nameplate would let others know that you were mine, that such a pretty woman was already spoken for. Like a wedding ring. It was just a little joke."

Adeladja wrinkled her brow as she continued to stare at him. She couldn't even begin to enjoy his discomfort as she pondered his words. _A little joke?_ "It's not a funny joke," she managed to choke out, "It's humiliating. I'm not an animal. I don't need a nameplate to remind myself that I belong to you," she said bitterly. She watched his eyes begin to shift to a bright ruby and realized she needed to change tack. "Besides, MeinHerr," she softened her voice. "Everyone can see that I belong to you. Aren't I always with you in public? Didn't the Empire see you put your arms about me and kiss me? The Crown Prince himself knows I am here and at your pleasure. I stay by your side, I am attentive to you when you speak. Anyone can see that I am yours." She ended, resigned at her situation.

Prussia studied his boots and then edged closer to her chair, his hand gliding from her shoulder to her neck where the hated collar was. She tensed as a couple of his fingers slid under the leather, waiting for him to yank her onto the floor. What could she expect after speaking so boldly to him, she thought as she closed her eyes in despair.

She heard a little click and then felt the leather slide off her neck. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hand as Prussia placed the collar and a little key into her palm. "I still want you to wear it," he said softly. "It would look very good with your red dress or a black gown. Once a week shouldn't be much trouble, ja?" She looked up at him, only capable of a head nod. If he weren't here, she thought, she would weep in gratitude, but she couldn't let him see that. He kept his hand extended towards her. "Now come with me, Adeladja." She got up, legs shaking and followed him to the sofa.

When he pulled her hand to sit on his lap, she didn't fight him. Only when he put his arms around her again, did she awaken from her daze.

"Shh, shh, shh," he laughed as she struggled and twisted. "Nothing happened last night, _tak?" _He asked in Polish. "_Tak," _Adeladja grumbled.

"It's just the same as last night, then. I give you my word. Just sit with me, _jak grzeczna dziewczynka."_11Prussia smiled at her and she stopped fighting. But she would not let down her guard, she determined, no matter how gently he rubbed her shoulder or spoke about the day in Polish. No, she thought as she sighed and felt her shoulders drop, he wasn't going to fool her. He didn't even seem to expect her to speak to him, so she watched the clock instead. And after an hour and five minutes, he let her go, just as he had promised. Adeladja went back to her room, relieved and surprised.

They followed the same pattern every day. Sometimes there were more meetings with mortals after lunch, sometimes not. Adeladja grew used to sitting in Prussia's office, half-heartedly flipping through newspapers or books on warfare as he conferred with the German Empire and various mortals. When she asked for pen and paper to write her brother and sister, he just shook his head and said kindly and firmly, "Nein." She grew less anxious about dinner; Prussia kept his hands respectfully placed as her time on his lap increased. He threw in some German endearments with the Polish as he rambled, obviously needing no answer from her. Besides, she only had questions for him, and she didn't think he would like them.

But one evening, as she sat with him, he gently grazed his long fingers along her cheek and murmured, "You are so silent, so watchful. I feel as if there were a thousand things you could say and yet you don't. _I've_ said plenty, _kochanie._ Now it's your turn to speak."

She turned to face him. "I have nothing to say, MeinHerr." Actually, she did but she was afraid of his reaction.

Prussia seemed to read her mind as he smiled and shook his head. "I think you do, Adeladja." He studied her. His eyes were a dark red-violet, a sign that he was in a good mood. "I'll tell you what. Say or ask anything you want, and I promise I will not get angry." She raised an eyebrow, and he insisted, "I've kept my word and behaved well all these nights, _tak?_ Go on, tell or ask me something."

Adeladja stared at him as she gathered her courage and her words. Finally, she felt she could speak. "I wonder why the change in behavior, MeinHerr." _Mój____ Boże_, she cursed herself, why couldn't she keep her voice from shaking? "Why are you so kind and patient now when you were quite the opposite before?"

Prussia pursed his lips and turned to look at the clock. She feared his reaction. But when he turned to look at her again, she was relieved to see his eyes were the same dark color.

"I have always believed in direct action," he said. "I thought if we got over the first obstacle quickly, you would feel less frightened. You'd see there was nothing to fear and then we could spend time learning how to enjoy ourselves."

Adeladja almost burst into laughter. What a ridiculous idea, she thought. She bit her lips to keep a straight face and finally said, "It doesn't quite work that way with _Jungfrauen_, MeinHerr. We need patience."

"I've been patient for almost three hundred years," he grumbled, "and twice I had you within my reach and twice I lost you. I think it's understandable I'd be a little eager." He shifted and she had to rest a hand against his chest to balance herself. She quickly drew it away so he wouldn't get any ideas. He looked at her, embarrassment pinking his ears.

"Then a little more patience can be borne," she finally said. He didn't look at her, but studied her hands resting primly in her lap.

"Ja, I figured that out," he muttered, his neck flushing. For a second, she wanted to laugh and joke with him, but then she recalled how rough he could be, and decided to stay quiet. But one thing he said lingered in her mind. The silence became unbearable.

"MeinHerr," Adeladja finally said. "You mentioned almost three hundred years. But you had claimed me and my city earlier than that. The time doesn't make sense."

"It does," Prussia said stubbornly. "We were children in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and besides I had taken a vow of chastity. I didn't even think of you as anything but a city that belonged to me until 1577."

"Why 1577?"

Now it was his turn to look amused. "Mein Gott, you don't remember? That was the year you quarreled with your brother about who should be King of Poland. You took up arms against him!"

Adeladja inhaled sharply as she remembered the siege and battle. Her brother and the Sejm had voted for the King of Hungary, and she and her leaders had wanted the Holy Roman Emperor12. Feliks had been so arrogant and smug in ordering her to accept the vote, and she had been so powerful and wealthy, she had bridled at his demands. How dare Feliks talk to her that way, she remembered. The King of Hungary had besieged her for six months, and then a final battle had made it clear that she would have to capitulate or risk worse suffering. She and her mortals conferred, and decided a dignified offer of a settlement was better than outright defeat. It had cost her 200,000 _zlotys_ and the recognition of King Stephen Bathory as her new ruler, but she had kept her status as a Royal City and her own laws.

And Prussia had been there, she recalled, when she had come to Krakow to offer her loyalty and apology to her brother. He had been a poor duchy then, holding Ducal Prussia in fief from Poland. How different he had been, dressed in plain black, rust-tinged doublet and breeches, his tired white hose sagging at his ankles. He had carried himself more like a surly servant than the proud force behind the German Empire. She found herself smiling.

"Now you remember!" Prussia nudged her shoulder and laughed. "Do you recall how Hungary still dressed as a man then? I remember that you seemed quite taken with him—her!"

Adeladja blushed. Hungary had worn the Renaissance hussar's outfit, looking splendid and exotic in a fur hat, Eastern-style long coat and tight hose that had showcased shapely legs. Her heart had fluttered when the beautiful youth with green eyes had smiled at her after she had made her public apology and request for forgiveness. "Ja," she murmured, "she did have everyone fooled for a while, didn't she?"

Prussia chuckled. "_I_ found out the truth shortly thereafter. But I remember how _you _looked." His voice grew softer as he studied her face. "We all expected you to come in, looking humble and defeated, ready to drop to your knees and cry for forgiveness. But instead, you sailed into the great hall like a conqueror, head high, covered in satin and jewels. And when you spoke, it was as if _you _were doing your brother a favor, rather than asking for his. We knew how to create theater then, didn't we?"

The wistfulness in his voice surprised Adeladja. Prussia's eyes seemed to be far away. "And that was why 1577 matters to you?"

"It was what happened after you made your address," he said. "Remember when you were leaving and Hungary called to you?" Adeladja nodded; she had been glad that the kingdom had singled her out for a greeting. She also remembered how Prussia had stood by Hungary's side, looking so drab and uncared-for in what passed for his best outfit. But in 1577, she had only had eyes for the Magyar; she had brought a gift, a peace offering after she had fought against the Hungarian king and his troops.

"I had brought Hungary that splendid collar of amber, pearls, and silver,"she murmured.

"Ja, but she kept oohing and aahing over the Damascus silk you had wrapped it in!" Prussia laughed and shook his head. "I remember standing there, thinking, 'What's with this fellow? Why is he so excited over a piece of cloth?'" Adeladja joined his laughter, remembering the befuddled expression on the Duchy of Prussia's face.

He stopped laughing. "And that was when you told Elizabeta that I was a vassal of your brother's, not a duchy in my own right." Adeladja tensed. It was all another trick, she realized, using a lovely memory to lure her into feeling comfortable so he could hurt her.

"I just wanted to make a proper introduction," she murmured as she cast down her eyes, "I didn't know she didn't know—"

"I got over it, _kochanie_." His voice grew tender again and he tilted her chin so she could look at him again. To her relief, his eyes were still a dark garnet. "Do you recall what happened next?"

"I saw you were embarrassed, and I wanted to make you feel better with a gift," Adeladja replied. Actually, back in 1577, she had really wanted to show that she was wealthy and prepared to shower largesse on all comers, but she didn't want to admit that. She had been so proud back then, she thought sadly. "I didn't have any more gifts, and I wanted to do _something_—"

"So you took that magnificent amber ring off your hand and placed it on mine," Prussia whispered. His face grew serious and purple flickered in his red irises. Adeladja held her breath. "When you held my hand and slid that ring on my finger, it was as if you had sent fire through my veins. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't hear anything but waves crashing in my ears or see anything but your pale face and those eyes like the Baltic Sea. That is why 1577 matters, Adeladja."

Adeladja couldn't breathe. As she studied Prussia's face, she could see the yearning over centuries, back to the poor young duchy and the strange expression he had worn. But she had taken it for awe at her generosity, not _this._ If only he had told her this during their first dinner instead of grabbing her, she thought, how different the past few weeks would have been!

"I didn't know," she finally managed to say. "I didn't know."

"And now you do, _kochanie."_ He studied her face, a slight smile playing on his lips. He was the Kingdom of Prussia again, strong, powerful, and well-turned out in a deep blue uniform. It set off his deep garnet eyes, pale skin and white-blond hair. "Now you know."

This time, when he planted a soft kiss on her neck, she didn't pull away.

**So what do you think of Prussia's change in tactics and Adeladja's reaction to them? How about the story he tells her about 1577? I used Google Translate for the Polish, so if it is off, I'd be grateful to any Polish-speaking readers to correct me. And I just want to say that I am so grateful for so many thoughtful, dedicated readers. Your comments really encourage me!**

1 Polish: my careful, clever girl

2 Polish: my sweet girl, my lovely city

3 Polish: Shhh, sweetheart

4 Polish: all is well

5 Polish: My darling, my jewel of the Baltic

6 Polish: Such a good sister

7 Polish: so sweet, so lovely, so worthy of adoration

8 Polish: why do you weep, sweetheart?

9 Polish: my brother

10 Polish: come with me, darling

11 Polish: like a good girl

12 The Sejm was the Parliament of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.


	14. Chapter 14 His Game

**Chapter 14 His Game**

Adeladja pondered what Prussia had confessed to her about 1577. Part of her wanted to believe it was a lie, but she had been there and she had seen the expression of amazement on his face amongst the court in Krakow. If it were true, she thought, than he had felt something she hadn't. She had merely been displaying her wealth and generosity; she had not felt the same charge of energy he claimed he had. But this now changed things. All this time in Berlin, she had thought he had had all the power. Maybe she had some after all.

The thought pleased her, but it didn't make her feel any more relaxed or revitalized. Instead, she felt even more exhausted than she had lately. Her fatigue and headaches had increased, but she figured that they were because of the stress she had been under. At least, she thought as she sat in Prussia's office while he met with his mortals, she could now feel a little at ease. She allowed herself to doze on and off during the meetings, trying to save her energy for the evening when they were alone.

That evening, he winked at her as he led her to their sofa. "I've a treat for you, Adeladja."

"A letter?" She still had not heard anything from Feliks and how he was doing in Warsaw.

"Nein, something better!" They stopped in front of a little table with a plate of crispy strips dusted with powdered sugar.

Adeladja couldn't help smiling. "_Chrusciki!"_ 1 She turned to him, delighted. "Lemon or almond flavor?"

"Madagascar vanilla," Prussia smirked. "Apparently the Imperial kitchen had an excess of it." Adeladja grinned at the reference to her accounting triumph in the fall. She reached for the plate, but Prussia whipped it away and plopped down on the sofa.

"Not so fast, Fraulein, we're going to play a game." He placed the plate down on the side table near him and pulled her down to sit next to him with his free hand. "I hold one end of the _chruscik _between my teeth and you do the same with the other end. Then whoever manages to nibble away the most and gets the end wins. Whoever breaks away first loses."

Adeladja raised an eyebrow. "What does the winner get?"

Prussia thought a little. "Whoever gets the most _chrusciki_ wins a favor from the other." He picked up one of the strips. "Ready?"

"Someone needs to keep a tally," Adeladja replied. She might sit in his lap, she reasoned, but she wasn't going to trust him to keep count fairly in his head when a favor was at stake.

"Fine," Prussia grumbled as he fished a memorandum booklet and pencil stub from one of his pockets. He dropped them on the table before her. "You keep a tally, but I'll be watching you for tricks." Adeladja happily created two columns and turned to face him.

"At the count of three. Watch my fingers." He placed the _chruscik_ between his teeth and wagged the free end towards her. She inhaled and tentatively bit down on the crumbly pastry, focusing her gaze on his fingers. When the third flew up, she barely got a bite in, before Prussia's lips were on hers, their teeth clacking as he pulled the last of the cookie from her mouth.

"Kesesese! That was easy!" He laughed. Adeladja shook her head. "I wasn't ready!"She protested, but he ignored her. "It's a fast game, _Mädchen! _At this rate, I'll have the whole plate _and _your favor!" He ran his tongue over his lips, licking the powdered sugar, but Adeladja glowered at his leer.

"On to the next round," she said, picking up a cookie, "and on _my _count." She placed it more securely between her teeth and held up her hand. This time, she was better prepared and nibbled her end as rapidly as Prussia did his. When their lips met, she resisted as he tried to pull her end from her mouth. When he tried nibbling at her lower lip, she managed to pull his end away. Adeladja triumphantly crunched it before him. "We're tied," she exclaimed, ticking a mark for each of them.

"There's still plenty of _chrusciki_," Prussia muttered, picking the next one. They alternated who did the count. The game was fast and giddy. When Adeladja found his lips against hers again, she thought of a new tactic. She softened her mouth and felt his tongue flick against her teeth. She obediently opened her lips and when his tongue slid in, she inhaled sharply and drew the _chruscik _away from him. She laughed as he blinked in surprise.

"Minx!" He cried, and she was relieved to hear amusement rather than anger. She marked down her victory, smiling.

The next time, he was better prepared, pushing the pastry to his inner cheek as his tongue diverted hers. Adeladja had to tilt her head and lean in to try to wrestle the _chruscik_ away from him. It was strange, she realized as she lost this round, but she was enjoying herself. If previously kissing him had been like being assaulted by a battering ram, this time it was like sparring with an accomplished fencer. She darted, feinted, and parried against him. The _chrusciki _crumbled between their lips and tongues, and soon one could only claim victory by having the mouth full of the most pastry and the other breaking away to breathe. Adeladja had to warn herself to remember she was playing for a favor, or else the warm glow she felt spreading from her mouth to her bottom would overpower her.

There was one more _chruscik_ left. Adeladja pulled away from Prussia's mouth. "No biting," she warned, nursing her lower lip.

"All's fair in war and _chrusciki_ duels." He shrugged, but she shook her head. "Besides, _Liebling_," he smirked, "you haven't been above using your teeth before."

"That was different," she replied. "That was self-defense, not a game. If biting is allowed, then we'll be taking chunks out of each others' mouths. And then where will we be?" She was pleased to see Prussia smile as he placed the last _chruscik_ between his teeth and waggled it before her.

"This one's for the game, _kochanie_." He winked at her. Adeladja took a deep breath and leaned in towards him. When the count reached three, she went on the attack, nibbling her end of the pastry until her lips met his. They paused, waiting for the other combatant to make the next move. Adeladja decided to surprise her opponent; she cupped his face between her hands and hovered over him. As she studied his eyes, she saw his confident gaze startle and melt. _He's actually handsome_, she realized as her thumbs ran over his clean shaven cheeks. _Nie, I mustn't think such things,_ she scolded herself. She slid her lips open, trying to bat his tongue away with hers and hide her end of the _chruscik_ within her mouth. She could feel his chest rising against hers, his fingers tangle in her hair as he pressed her closer. She wouldn't let him overwhelm her, _she _would win the match, all she needed to do was press onward and scoop the remaining pastry from his mouth, his wet warm mouth that tasted like vanilla, and—

_Draniu!_2 Adeladja squealed when she felt Prussia's fingers pinch her nostrils shut. Her first instinct was to pull away, but she remembered the game's rules. He wanted her to break away, did he? She'd show him! She inhaled through her mouth, taking his breath away, and pushed deeper in, forgetting about the pastry and lashing his tongue with hers, sucking on it until it stuck to the roof of her mouth, drawing at it until-

Prussia broke away, gasping for air. As he panted, he gazed at her. Slowly his lips curved upward. "_Verdammt, M__ädchen_," he drawled, "from 'that was my first kiss' to _this._ You are a fast learner."3

Adeladja still hovered over him, triumph flushing her face. "I wanted to win the favor," she said simply. She tried to push herself off his chest, but he pressed her back until their noses were only a finger's length apart.

"And what do you want me to do for you, _kochanie_?" He purred the Polish endearment and Adeladja felt heat flutter up her spine.

"I want to write letters to my brother and sister and send them off tomorrow."

Prussia groaned and rolled his eyes. "Really?_ That's _why you played so well? _Mein Gott, _Adeladja, you've already written to them!"

"Of course, MeinHerr," she replied. "I need to reply to Krakow's letter, and I need to let Feliks know that I am doing well."

"Write to your sister," he grumbled, "but really, why keep sending letters to your brother if he doesn't answer them?"

Adeladja studied his eyes carefully. "Feliks has always answered my letters in the past," she said. She leaned in closer, her lips hovering over his. "Maybe something is holding them up?"It amused her when he arched up to meet her mouth and she pulled away. "I won the game," she repeated, "and I want to write my brother and sister, no matter if they have replied or not."

"Ach, Adeladja, why do you want to waste your win on that?" Prussia whined. "Isn't there anything else you want?" His eyes grew serious and he rubbed a finger against her cheek; she didn't pull away. "Isn't there anything you want for yourself?"

Adeladja was about to flatter him by stating that she had all she needed, but she paused and thought. "I would like to visit my city, MeinHerr,"she stated. As he opened his mouth to protest, she placed a finger on his lips and was pleased that he grew silent. "You would go with me, of course." She knew that would placate him. "I would like to check on my house, talk to my mayor. Bitte, MeinHerr," she whispered, "That is the only other thing I want."

Prussia's red-violet eyes studied her and for a second she saw warmth and felt hope. "Nein, Adeladja," he said softly. "I can't allow that. Are you sure there isn't something else you want? I'm friends with Spain, I could get you a parrot. Or how about some art from Japan? Perfume," he pleaded as Adeladja drew away from him, "I'll tell France to create a perfume just for you, like a—"

Adeladja looked down at him. "If I can't visit my home, then I want to write my brother and sister, no matter if I have received an answer or not."

He sank back upon the couch, sighing. "But they barely write you! Why should you have to do all the work? A fine pair of siblings, they are!"

"They are my siblings," Adeladja insisted. "Why can't I write them as often as I like?"

"Because I can't have you telling them all my secrets."

Adeladja almost wanted to laugh. Like he would be their most important topic of conversation! She bit her lips to control herself. "But I don't know your secrets. You don't tell me anything about your conversation with your boss that I don't read in the paper. Besides, I just want to let them know that I am doing well and hear how they are."

Prussia shrugged. "You've already done that. Why keep singing the same tune in a valley that never echoes back?"

"Because they're my family." Adeladja said stubbornly. "If you were separated from the German Empire and never knew when you would see him again, wouldn't _you _want to write him? Wouldn't you like to know how he is doing? Even if it were just the briefest of lines," she felt a lump rise in her throat, "wouldn't you hold onto that piece of paper forever?" Her eyes stung with tears and suddenly she buried her head in his shirt.

She could feel his hands waver over her back, then gently pet her hair. "Oh Adeladja," he sighed. "Ludwig and I will never be separated; we're too strong. But," and he tapped her shoulder,"I guess if I _could_ imagine such an unlikely event happening, then ja, I'd want a letter."

"Then I can write them?" Adeladja wiped her tears on her forearm.

He sighed dramatically and flopped his head back on the sofa. "Ja. You may write them, but remember that I have conditions," he stated. "First, you must write in German. I know all of you can do that. Second, you will show me your letters and I will go over them and make you change them to my approval. Third, I will collect and mail them for you, so you don't tamper with them. Many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, as England likes to say."

"Of course. _Dankeschon, MeinHerr_," Adeladja replied. She was about to get up and curtsey to him, but Prussia wrapped his arms around her lower back and smiled at her. He raised his fine dark brows.

"We're not done, _Liebling_," he whispered. This time, a chill ran up Adeladja's spine. "Let's seal our agreement with a kiss, ja?" One of his hands traveled up to the back of her head. She closed her eyes and leaned in.

Without the _chrusciki,_ she thought it would be a chore to kiss him, but she felt something else. His warm lips yielded to hers and his tongue danced at her teeth, asking for an invitation instead of forcing itself in. She opened up to him and felt his tongue caress hers. A warmth bloomed in her stomach and soared into her chest, as she entered his mouth. How lively and playful, she thought, how_ delightful_.

Prussia drew his lips away, and she had to remind herself not to follow. He said, "We should go to Sanssouci, before it gets too hot and the mortals take over. We'll make a day of it with a picnic."

"That sounds wonderful, MeinHerr." Adeladja was excited at the opportunity to leave the palace and its gardens. She wanted to be outdoors, to see different landscapes, to be out of Berlin. "Would we be able to ride out there, Mein Herr? I miss riding."

He snorted in amusement in her ear. "I'm not going to give a Polack a horse to run away upon."

"I didn't mean it that way." To her amazement, Adeladja realized she hadn't even thought of escape. "I just miss riding and horses and thought. . ."

"_Nein, Liebling._" Prussia said firmly. "It takes too long anyway. We could take a carriage or the train."

"The train would get us there faster and we would have more time for the palace and the grounds."

"Ah, but a carriage is more private." One of his hands slid along her waist and under her breast. The next step, Adeladja realized, and she didn't feel so safe and eager anymore.

"Indeed, Mein Herr, but a train would be faster and you would have more time to show me the secrets of Sanssouci." She inwardly cringed at being alone in a carriage with Prussia for several hours.

"A private railcar? I might be able to arrange that." He sounded pleased with himself.

"That could work," Adeladja said weakly. It would be less time than a carriage, she admitted.

"Then tomorrow morning, you may write your letters," Prussia whispered, his hand cupping the underside of her breast. "And right afterwards, we shall go to Potsdam."

"Ja, MeinHerr," she murmured, relieved when he let her go and walked her back to the door. Adeladja saw what lay before her, what territory the silly _chrusciki_ game had led her into, and she trembled as she slipped into her bed.

**Modern-day Prussia enters the stage. "Kesesese! I am so awesome that _I_ invented the Pocky Game!"**

**Modern-day Japan emerges from the curtains: "So you did, Ore-sama. But I would say that my Pocky are better for the game than those flimsy, crumbly Polish cookies." Prussia nods approvingly towards his friend.**

**Modern-day Poland jumps up from the audience. "Just a second! _Chrusciki _are like totally delicious, especially when my sister Krakow makes them! They're so light and flaky-" Prussia waves his hand dismissively and Poland charges the stage, attempting to tackle the larger personification. Japan makes a half-hearted attempt to break them apart and then withdraws, disturbed at the brawling nations. Curtain falls on Prussia tussling with Poland. **

**So what do _you _think of Prussia's game and its effect on Adeladja? And what do you think will happen at Sanssouci? Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! And Happy Easter to those who celebrate it!**

1 Polish deep fried pastry –delicate crispy fried rich pastry strips with powdered sugar. Nomnomnom!

2 Polish: Bastard!

3 German: Damn, girl! Now say it like the United States would: "Day-umm, guurll…."


	15. Chapter 15 Her Triumph

**Chapter 15 Her Triumph**

**Warnings for length and sexual activity.**

Prussia scanned the letter Adeladja had written to Feliks. She held her breath, anticipating his approval. It was a very safe, loving letter, she thought.

_Dearest Brother,_

_I pray this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Herr Preußen has taken me into the Stadtschlosse and treated me like a welcome guest. I am well and lack for nothing. If there is anything I can do or give to make your stay in Russia more comfortable, please do not hesitate to contact me. I shall do my best._

_I miss you so much, my dear brother. Easter has come and gone and I remember with such fondness how we celebrated. May God and the Virgin Mother keep you under Their care as I keep you in my prayers._

_Your Loving sister,_

_Adeladja Constancja_

Prussia finished and without looking at her, dipped his pen in the inkwell on the desk, and began crossing out lines. Adeladja's heart sunk. She had tried so hard to make the letter heartfelt and safe, and now there would be nothing left.

"Adeladja." Prussia's voice was serious. "What does 'if there is anything I can do or give to make your stay in Russia more comfortable, please do not hesitate to contact me' mean, precisely?"

"It means what it says, Mein Herr." She looked down at her hands. "If he needs shirts or socks or handkerchiefs or books or sweets."

"Then write, 'If you need shirts, socks, or handkerchiefs, please do not hesitate to contact me.' Be precise and write what you mean, otherwise he'll be demanding money and troops and I'm _not_ getting fooled into that." He pushed a fresh sheet of paper and towards her. "And no books or sweets. I'm not going to feed or entertain him." He grumbled as he handed her the censored draft. "Copy it out as I've corrected, pet."

Adeladja dipped her pen and frowned as she reviewed his changes. "MeinHerr, why did you take out the part about Easter, and God and –"

"'How we celebrated?' Really, Adeladja, that sounds like code. And my boss frowns on all that Catholic stuff."

She looked up at him. "How about you? You believed and prayed to Mary and the saints once."

He looked uncomfortable. "Sure, everybody did. But now I know better."

"Are you really that devout a Lutheran, Mein Herr?"

He flicked her cheek and laughed at her shocked face and exclamation. "What does that matter? I don't make a show of prayers or penance. I don't need to. I've decided I'm one of the elect."

Adeladja returned to copying out her letter so he couldn't see the contempt curling in her lip. She despised the heretical doctrine of predestination. Of course, _he'd_ like it, she thought, and wouldn't he have the pride to _decide_ he was one of God's chosen ones. She finished the letter and then wrote one out to Krakow that was even blander; in it she thank her sister for her letter and reassured her that she was fine. She enquired about her health, and sent good wishes to Hungary and Austria. She noted that Prussia skimmed that and nodded his approval.

"I'll put these in the post tomorrow morning, but don't expect anything for at least a week," he told her as he tucked the letters in his waistcoat pocket. They left his study and headed out to the carriage waiting for them.

Potsdamer Platz was already full of mortals, horses and noise when the carriage brought Adeladja and Prussia to the train station that morning. She felt like a country girl, turning to observe the shops and the bustling people as the conductors called names of towns and train lines. Although it was a younger city than Danzig, Berlin was big and important, full of people trying to make something new and worthy of the German Empire. Even though he was wearing civilian clothes, Prussia received respect and instant obedience from the conductor as he led them to a luxurious private car. The walls were papered and framed with gilded wood carvings, and the seats were soft and spacious.

As the train pulled out of the station, Adeladja watched eagerly as the view changed from a bustling area of commerce to rows of villas and fashionable houses. She felt like her whole time in Berlin had been confined to the Stadtschlosse, except for the months in Mecklenburg-Schwerin; she was starved to see new sights. It didn't help that Prussia bounced around the car like a bored child. He wanted her to read the leading stories from the morning newspaper to him; he wanted her to sit on his lap and kiss him. She came upon a compromise when she asked him to tell her the highlights of the trip from Berlin to Sanssouci. He proudly pointed out the homes of great families and the upcoming industrialists, remarking on what had existed on those spots one hundred years ago. Adeladja listened, smiled, and nodded. _If I can keep this up, _she thought, _today will be bearable._

In half an hour, they were in Potsdam, and then in a carriage taking them to Sanssouci. Prussia barely had time to fondle her before they were at the palace grounds. "Come along, Adeladja!" He sang as he leapt out of the carriage and held his hand out to her. She hesitated. He had brought a wicker basket for their picnic and now it sat forlorn on the carriage floor. He noticed her expression. "Don't forget the basket," he said.

Adeladja lugged the basket as she followed him through the palace gates. She couldn't believe that he was making _her_ carry it. So much for chivalry. She was tired, the corset limited her ability to breathe and hold her body to distribute the weight; her shoes were too tight and high-heeled to walk efficiently. When Prussia looked back at her and said, "_Beillen, liebling_!"1 , she sighed in exasperation. He came over to her. "Why can't you move faster?" He asked.

"I'm not used to carrying such a weight at such a pace, Mein Herr." Adeladja waited for him to make the logical conclusion. When he stared inquisitively at her, she stated, "I was raised in a convent, not an infantry barracks."

"Of course," he replied. "One can't run very fast with a full picnic basket, _ja?" _He grinned knowingly at her.

Adeladja dropped the basket to the ground. "I'm not going to run away on you." It hadn't even crossed her mind, she realized. _Boże_,2 she realized, I'm growing so tame and stupid.

Prussia walked over, picked up the basket handles and offered her his free arm. "Well, let's go then." They walked at a more moderate pace until they came to the palace of Sanssouci. She was surprised at how small and ornate the building was. It reminded her of a fanciful one-layer cake. They entered the palace and she admired the marble and gilt entrance hall's Corinthian columns and relief sculpture. They walked further in.

"Look up." Prussia nudged her and she looked up at the dome ceiling and gasped. A glass window let in the bright blue May sky and filled the gold and white room with light. Marble statues of Venus and Apollo peeked out of niches. "What do you think?" Prussia asked. She looked up at him and saw him smiling at the dome without guile or smugness. "I think it's marvelous," she said.

He led her through the remaining rooms. Delicate tendrils and floral carvings covered the walls, ceilings and picture frames. Gilt gleamed against white, red and pale blue walls, and paintings. Adeladja did not expect that a Prussian king and army commander would have such playful, almost feminine taste in design and art. Prussia told her stories about the man he called "Old Fritz"—his hatred of his father's brutality, his prickly friendship with the French writer Voltaire, and how he had taught the nation to think about something other than fighting. He told of philosophical discussions, dirty jokes, music concerts, and drinking contests, which Prussia had always won.

They entered one room, a streamlined, neoclassical scheme at odds with the fanciful décor of the small palace. A mood settled onto Prussia, like dust dulling a window. They stood before an armchair. He finally spoke. "This is where he died."

Adeladja looked up at him. She didn't know what to say; "I'm sorry" seemed like such a foolish thing. After all, this was a mortal who had compared her people to the Iroquois savages of Canada and stolen her brother's right to nationhood; why should she be sorry that he had died? She turned to Prussia and saw him staring at the chair, looking solemn and lost. Tentatively, she reached her hand out to his and took it. He squeezed it gently and twined his long fingers with hers.

"Towards the end, he didn't care that the palace needed work. He said he wanted it to end with him. He wanted to be buried here near his dogs." He looked out the south window towards the garden. "But they put him in the _Garnisonkirche_,3 right next to his _Arschloch_ father.4" He grinned at her. "Not exactly whom a mortal wants to wake up next to on _der Tag des Jüngsten Gerichts_,5 hmm?"

"From what you have said of Friedrich Wilhelm, I would also prefer to be buried near my dogs," Adeladja replied.

Prussia was silent for one second and then he sighed and squeezed her hand again. "Let's go into the sunlight." They walked right back through the picture gallery and back to the Marble Hall. He opened the French windows out onto the terraced garden and fountain.

Adeladja and he stepped down the terraces as he pointed out where various grapevines and fruit trees had been planted. They turned left and he led her to a flat area where she saw little plaques in the grass. Prussia knelt down, opened up the picnic basket and took out one of the smoked _wurst_. He pulled out a pocket knife and cut little disks, one for each marker. Adeladja watched curiously as he placed one piece on each worn surface. He looked up at her, embarrassed and defiant.

"It's for his dogs, since he can't do it for them." He said. Adeladja wanted to point out that dead dogs did not need their lunch, but then hesitated. Maybe mortal spirits did haunt places, maybe they went to their everlasting reward or damnation; maybe it simply made him feel better to leave some little tribute to animals that his favorite king had loved. With such a king and such a nation, maybe it was better to be a pet rather than a Pole.

Prussia stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. "He would weep every time one of those dogs died. Weep as much as when his sister did. And then he would get a new puppy and even though he knew the same thing would happen, he would fall in love all over again. I used to think it was dumb, but now I look back and think it's _heroic_, especially after…."He paused and pursed his lips. Then he turned to her with the hard, bright smile that did not reach his eyes. "And that's why we shouldn't love mortals, Adeladja."

They continued their walk down to the fountain. Adeladja thought about what he had said. She had known many mortals over the centuries: nuns who had entered the convent as novices and left as corpses, mayors and their wives and children, the generations of greater and lesser _szlachta_ families. Servants aged and disappeared. She had been fond of many of them, enjoyed their company and felt a little sorrow when her favorites moved on with their lives and deaths. But she had never loved one deeply; that love had been reserved for her brother and sister, maybe Lithuania, who used to joke that she looked more like him than her siblings. Prussia had loved this mortal out of all his rulers and had seen him age and die. Now in the sunlight of the early afternoon, she could feel a wave of grief emanate from him that made her feel like the shallow, heartless one.

They wandered along the _allées_, Prussia occasionally pointing out an allegorical statue or folly in the distance. It was all green and blue, the leaves, grass and the sky peeping through the trimmed trees and hedges. He seemed inexhaustible, and Adeladja could see why he was such a good soldier with his stride and ability to carry a loaded picnic basket as if it were nothing.

They arrived at the brook that ran through the park near the Chinese Pavilion. "This should charm your Eastern heart," he said to her, and Adeladja replied, "We were the bastion against the East." Prussia shrugged; his good mood had returned to him. Adeladja studied the figures of Chinese maids and mandarins sporting about the pavilion. She _was_ charmed, but she was also weary and hungry.

"Let's eat," Prussia said, and she happily agreed. Because the weather was so pleasant, they sat outside on the banks of the brook, under a tree for shade. With a dramatic sigh, Prussia flung his head back into Adeladja's lap. "I am exhausted," he sighed. "Feed me." He looked up at her with his mouth open like a little bird.

Adeladja smiled and reached into the picnic basket. There were smoked and dried _wurst_, cheeses, a loaf of rye bread, oranges and strawberries. There were glasses for a growler of beer, which was probably the heaviest thing in the basket. She noted a knife in the basket. "I'm surprised you trust me with sharp objects, Mein Herr."

"I trust you," he said simply. As he lay with his head in her lap, his throat bared, she thought how easy it would be to stick the knife into the white skin, to watch his blood stain his shirt and ground. He looked up at her, red-violet eyes a mix of challenge and trust.

She couldn't do it.

Instead, she cut off little coins of the sausage and cheese, alternating feedings between herself and him. She dangled berries above his lips and laughed when he declared himself Caesar. She peeled an orange and cut it in wedges and teased him with her fingers, sometimes allowing his teeth to catch them and sometimes pulling away in time. In between bites, she sipped beer and offered him a glass. He sat up and downed it and she poured a second for both of them.

"That's what I like about Polish girls," he mused, "You have no pretensions when it comes to drink."

"Beer is easy." Adeladja replied.

Prussia whistled appreciatively. "So you drink _wodka_6 like water, eh?"

Adeladja blushed. "We weren't allowed, but once during the Christmas holidays, I wanted to see why Feliks and Toris liked it so much. So I snuck a bottle upstairs to the room I shared with Elena in Warsaw. We drank and sang and danced," she shook her head and laughed at the memory, "and then we had the most terrible headaches the next day! I think my brother figured it out, because we couldn't find any more bottles."

"So was that the naughtiest thing you did?"

"Yes." Adeladja swallowed another sip of beer. "He wanted us to grow up as educated, virtuous ladies."

"How boring for you!" Prussia finished his beer and Adeladja poured him some more. "Do you know why I hate your brother so much?"

The good mood disappeared. "No."

"It was the battle of Tannenberg," Prussia said. "I believe your brother called it Grunwald. I was the Teutonic Order then and your brother and Lithuania had allied against me. I actually thought we were winning because I had seen the Lithuanians flee the field. I had your brother on his back and I was ready to kill him, when Toris snuck up and knocked me out with his shield. They must have beaten me when I was unconscious, because when I came to, my arm was broken and they had bound me."

Adeladja shifted, the old feeling of anxiety rising in her chest. She didn't like how Prussia stared into the distance, his eyes turning into hard rubies. "That wasn't very chivalrous of them," she muttered.

He glanced at her, eyes cold as stones. "That wasn't the worst part. _That_ happened when they pulled me up onto my knees and insulted me. I thought they were going to cut my throat right there and all I could think was that I needed to say my prayers so I wouldn't be damned. And they didn't let me do that. They had other plans than killing me."

"So they took you hostage?" Adeladja didn't remember her brother telling her that; all he had told her about Grunwald was that it was a great victory, they had shown the Teutonic Order who was lord of the region, and they had had fun doing so.

Prussia smirked at her, an ugly expression with no pride or amusement in it. "They humiliated me. Your _noble_ brother and _sweet, gentle_ Lithuania used me like I wouldn't use a dog. And then they let me go and I joined the last survivors of my order on our retreat to Marienburg. I was so ashamed, I wished I had died."

Adeladja shivered in the warm May afternoon. Something terrible had happened on that field; her brother and Lithuania—so fastidious, so cultured—had done something so base and cruel to the young Teutonic Order that it had created this deep hatred that had lasted over the centuries. She was afraid to look at Prussia, so she studied her gloved hands instead.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know about this."

"You don't know a lot about your brother, do you, Adeladja?" Prussia's voice was cold and soft. "You just think he is your savior, and is so misunderstood and bullied. Poor Poland, torn apart by Russia, Austria and Prussia." She glanced at him and quickly looked away, unable to bear the sneer on his face. "Ja, you think I just woke up one day and decided to destroy him for his land, didn't you? Well, nein, I didn't." He laughed mirthlessly. "But here's the best part, pet."

He shifted so he was closer to Adeladja. She wanted to bolt, but a sick fascination kept her still. "Over a hundred years after Tannenberg, my master decided to leave the order and get some land and power. He pledged to become a Lutheran and be a vassal to the King of Poland in order to become the Duke of Prussia.7 So I was there at the ceremony where he paid his homage to the king. I was a newly minted Lutheran and dressed in my campaign gear. And while my boss was pledging to your brother's boss, I was expected to do the same to your brother." Prussia took a sip of beer.

"So there I was, not very happy of course, but I was still rather devout and I decided I would be a good Christian and forgive him. Let the past stay in the past, ja? So I go up to him, kneel before him and wait to kiss his hand. And he just dangled his fingertips in front of me and barely let my lips touch them. He looked at me like I was covered in shit." His bitter smile disappeared. "Then he said something to Lithuania and I understood enough to know he was saying 'Haven't we seen him in this position before?' And Lithuania laughed and said something _I'm _ too much of a gentleman to repeat." He finished the beer and smacked his glass down on the grass.

Adeladja felt sick. She remembered the Prussian homage in 1525; she had been amongst the crowd of onlookers as her brother accepted the newly renamed Duchy of Prussia's pledge of loyalty and peace. But at the time, she had been glad to see him behave so humbly after he had been so arrogant when he had possessed her as the Teutonic Order. She had actually smiled as Feliks and Toris had shared a private joke and the Prussian had gotten up and bowed, a scowl on his red face. Now she wished she could travel back in time and stand next to her brother during the Prussian homage. She wished she could whisper in Feliks's ear to be gracious to the silver-haired youth before him. She took the hand that held the beer glass.

"I wish I had been on the dais," she said, "to tell him to behave better." She saw Prussia curl his lip, and added apologetically, "Feliks can be very haughty at times."

"Well, you know what they say about Fortune's wheel." Prussia snorted with a dry little laugh. "Isn't _he _on the downward turn. And he's even managed to suck his sisters in."

"We chose to help him," Adeladja said proudly.

"How nice of you." Prussia poured another round of beer for both of them. "I know it's not vodka, but it can still lead to singing and dancing." They clinked glasses.

They watched the water run through the brook and the sun travel through the trees and meadow. Prussia sat up, leaned his back against the tree, and smiled, a sweet, rather stupid smile, Adeladja thought. She was relieved to see him leave the past behind.

"What are you thinking of?" She asked.

He turned to her and she could see a softness in his eyes. "I was thinking about how Ludi—I mean _Germany—_was little, and I'd take him here. We'd run around and wrestle, and fight with branches, and then he'd finally wear himself out and flop down on top of me for a nap. He was so cute," he smiled broadly. "He had those long lashes and his lower lip would pout out." He shook his head. "I miss that."

Adeladja finished her beer and edged closer to Prussia. He turned to her and she smiled at him. He pulled her in to him and she rested her head against his chest.

"What are you thinking, _Liebling?" _He whispered.

"I'm thinking of what a lovely day this has been." She looked at his face. His eyes studied hers. "I like it when you speak about your brother," she added.

She felt his fingers dig into her upper arm. "Why? You like him?"

"No." She shifted so he could see her eyes. He looked wary and this saddened her. "I like it because I can see your kindness and love for others."

He blinked, his face soft and surprised. Then it hardened into the sneer she hated. "So you like weak men, like my cousin, _Österreich."_

"No," she replied. "I like men who are strong enough to be kind and gentle when that is the best way to be."

She marveled at how his eye color changed under her gaze, from hard, bright red to soft dark burgundy. Maybe it was only the shift of the sun and shadows. He stroked her cheek and she rested against his chest. She could hear his heart beat and smell the scent of clean linen and male skin. She wanted to tell him she was sorry that Old Fritz had abandoned him for death, that Sanssouci came with bittersweetness, that her brother had been so savage towards him. Her hand clutched his shoulder and she rubbed her cheek against his chest as his free hand stroked her hair.

Maybe it was all that, or the warmth and sun, and the humming brook. Maybe it was the beer. She didn't draw away at the soft kisses on her cheek and along her jawline. She did not melt as his long fingers tilted her head to face him. He played with her lower lip, until she nibbled at his in return. His tongue teased her lips and teeth with little feints and parries, until she darted hers into his mouth. She yielded fully into the kiss and when his tongue slid against hers, she was no longer anxious. She enjoyed it like a little dance. The _chrusciki _game had prepared her well, she thought.

She held his face with one hand, stroking his high cheekbone. She ran her other hand through his hair. He pulled her closer to him with both hands, urging her to kiss him harder.

_MMmmppff. _Adeladja couldn't believe that she had heard the needy little sound come from the ruthless Prussia. She kissed harder, deeper, pressing her breasts against his chest. He clutched her and made the same whimper, even more desperately. Something in her broke. She recalled what he had told her about 1577 and realized this was what he had longed for over the centuries. All this time, she had merely reacted to his actions. Maybe, she thought, it is time _to act_.

She fiddled with his tie and shirt buttons until he grew impatient and undid them for her. She traced her mouth down to his collarbone. She kissed at the dip and then traced her way back up to his panting, eager mouth. This time, the kisses were reckless, even sloppy, but she didn't mind; she was the one in control.

When she ran her hand along his cheek and jaw, he caught her glove's fingertip between his teeth and gazed at her through lidded eyes. She undid the buttons at the wrist and eased the short glove over her knuckles, while he pulled it off her fingers with his mouth. He kissed her naked hand gently on the palm. Adeladja couldn't help smiling and she felt a flush rise to her cheeks. Prussia glanced sideways at her, grinning into her palm. Then he swirled his tongue into the most sensitive part. "Oh," she gasped and she felt a strange warmth in her stomach. She unbuttoned the other glove and trailed her hand down his face; he caught the fabric between his teeth and helped her remove it. This time he pulled her finger into his mouth and sucked it, staring at her with hooded, glazed eyes. She felt little gates opening in her body, streams of pleasure rushing through. _Not yet_, she thought. She needed a clear head if she were going to learn anything.

She shifted and swung one leg other so she was straddling him. He undid the buttons of her day dress. She pulled it open and then loosened the strings of her chemise so he could see her breasts rising above the corset. She looked down at him as he gazed at her, mouth open with desire_._

_ "__Wy jesteście piękni,_8_" _Prussia whispered in perfectly accented Polish. She was flustered. For a second, she felt a strange tenderness, a desire to comfort him for the past. But then she remembered that she did not like him very much and making him happy was not her primary goal. She took his hands and laid them upon her bare skin.

_"__Pieszczone zwierzę ja_,9"she commanded, and to her delight, he obeyed, squeezing her breasts and flicking the nipples. She pulled his head in and he moaned, covering one breast and then the other with kisses until he settled into sucking on one. Shots of fire seemed to radiate through her, even as the floodgates opened. _Keep your head, _she told herself, as she stroked his silver hair and buried her face in it. _Do not let him overwhelm you._

She felt his hands travel down her back, squeezing her waist and hipbones, pressing her lower body against his. _Oh no you don't_, she thought, _I will decide how this ends. _She traced her right hand slowly down his chest, tweaking his nipples, and then felt him grab her wrist and lead it down to his crotch. Obediently she undid his trouser buttons. _I don't have to look, I just have to touch it_.

She didn't know what to expect, but she was surprised at how soft the skin was, even as it stretched taut over hard, engorged flesh. She had only the vaguest idea of what to do. She leaned close to his ear and whispered as seductively as she could, "Show me how to touch you, Mein Herr." He guided her hand along his length and she followed the pace he set for her. She could feel how hot he grew, how the skin stretched until she felt the veins rising underneath.

She kissed him along his neck and ears, keeping her eyes on him. He was panting, his mouth moist and open, his eyes unfocused. Sometimes he bit his lip and other times he sought her mouth, hungrily kissing her. She noticed that certain spots and strokes seemed to make him moan louder and shift his weight as his hips rocked. Her hand grew tired, so she switched them and felt a little slick moisture at the tip. When she swirled it around the exposed head with one finger and stroked with the other hand, he licked his lips and whined. _Fascinating_.

When he buried his head between her breasts, she could feel the light sweat press against her own damp skin. He grabbed her other hand and placed it around the base and she kept stroking at the top; she found that one little spot caused him to buck harder. He threw himself back against the tree like he was in agony. So she kept swirling and squeezing, studying how his face seemed to contort, until finally, he cried out like someone awakening from a nightmare and her fingers grew wet and slick. She glanced down and saw a pearly white liquid running from his tip onto her hand. Then she looked back at him and saw him exhaling deeply, catching his breath, eyes closed and mouth open. _Amazing_. She wondered where she could wipe her hands, and then did so on the grass.

Adeladja didn't know what to do next. She studied how he regained his composure, how she felt little tremors run through his body. When he finally opened his eyes, he smiled at her and then winked. He pulled her back towards him so they rested, cheek to cheek and breast to breast. She felt his heart rate slow down and his hand tenderly stroke her hair and face.

"_Liebling_, someday you must tell me the name of the priest who taught you so well," he whispered.

Adeladja smile at him, pleased with her work. "He was a member of the Teutonic Order," she murmured. "I believe he left it and became a Lutheran heretic."

He chuckled a little and held her closer. "Like you, _Schatz?"_

Adeladja felt too triumphant to take his words seriously. She noticed how his eyes were a deep maroon. She kissed his nose and he smiled.

They rested against each other for several minutes. "Such a sweet girl you are," he murmured. "Who knew you could be so sweet?" Adeladja's exhilaration had faded and now she felt too tired to reply. She simply rested her chin on his shoulder, finally feeling safe.

After a bit, Prussia noticed her shivering from the slight breeze. He gently helped her tuck her breasts back into their chemise and button her bodice. Then he buttoned his shirt and trousers, sat up, and pulled out his pocket watch. "_Mein Gott!"_ He said. He clicked it shut. "We need to go, the carriage will be here for us soon." He grabbed the basket and yanked Adeladja up by the arm. "Double-time march! _Schnell!"_

She had to trot to keep from falling behind, and by the time they reached the carriage, her face was flushed and sweat dampened tendrils to her forehead and cheeks. She caught her breath in the carriage, marveling at how Prussia seemed hardly winded. _And yet I can make him pant and moan with the touch of my hand, _she thought.

Later, on the train to Berlin, she mused over the day. She had actually enjoyed it, more than she had imagined. Even, she thought slyly to herself, what she had done to him in the park; she had liked the sense of power she felt, him writhing under her, at the mercy of her fingers. Maybe, she hoped, being his pet would not be so bad after all.

**So what do you think has caused Adeladja to make such a move? And what do you think of what Prussia has told her about his past? If you're curious about Tannenberg/Grunwald and what happened, check out the chapter "Childhood Memories" (I think it's in the teens) in _Liechtenstein x Prussia: Maiden and Unicorn._ Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!**

1 German: Hurry, darling!

2 Polish: God

3 Garrison Church, Protestant church in Potsdam built by King Friedrich Wilhelm I, Friedrich II's father.

4 German: asshole

5 German: Day of Judgment

6 German: vodka (obviously)

7 Albert of Brandenburg-Ansbach, then the Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights, decided with the advice of Martin Luther to convert to Protestantism and pledged to hold the Duchy of Prussia as a fief from the King of Poland, Sigismund the Old. The "Prussian Homage" occurred in 1525.

8 Polish: You are beautiful

9 Polish: Pet me


	16. Chapter 16 His Revisions

**Chapter 16 His Revisions**

**Warning for sexual references-nothing drawn out or explicit, but still. **

Gilbert lay on his bed, throwing a crumpled sheet of paper in the air and catching it. He smiled as he repeatedly caught and tossed the ball, like a cat at play. His reflexes were so good, he didn't even have to concentrate; instead his mind roamed over the past few weeks.

His cold, haughty _Polin_ hady come along very nicely, he thought1. Looking back, he realized he had averted a defeat of Jena-like proportions. By changing his tactics, he had changed her. Who knew Danzig's prim, elegant lips were capable of such passionate kisses, or those slim aristocratic hands so quick to please him? She was turning out better than he had expected. Soon, he thought, he would have to come up with a new game to lead her into further ways of pleasure. He imagined coating himself with sour cream, mushroom sauce or whatever would pique her appetite, and he laughed out loud at the picture.

He could have cursed himself for not coming up with better ways to seduce her earlier. It had taken that conversation with Ludwig to remind him that patience and cleverness were key to taming women as well as animals. And he was so proud of himself for thinking up the _chrusciki _game; everyone likes games, don't they? Even Ludwig had enjoyed learning about warfare more when Gilbert had sat down with him and his toy soldiers rather than lecturing the young entity. Why should a Polish city be any different? And he had enjoyed the game also, taking pleasure in seeing her blue-gray eyes sparkle and the growing confidence and daring in her kisses. Letting her write letters that would never be sent was a small favor for her to win; he could be generous.

The first nights of his new campaign had been the hardest. For once, Gilbert had been grateful for all the ridiculous petticoats and contraptions women wore under their dresses. If Danzig had felt his _Ständer,_ she would have leapt from his lap and cowered on top of the sideboard like a terrified cat.2 He deserved a medal for his self-control, he thought. _Scheiße,_ if he were still Catholic, he would demand sainthood for not flipping up her skirt! Instead, he kept telling himself to be patient, not to push things, to remember the long-term goal and forego the immediate gratification.

Around the third night, something had changed. Instead of focusing on reining himself in, he had found himself staying in the moment and simply enjoying it. He had a pretty girl on his lap and that was all that mattered. He savored the fact that Danzig was not glaring at him or pushing him away, and he concentrated on how she gradually leaned against him and how her hair smelled like ocean air and ambergris. Don't expect anything more, he had told himself, just let this moment stay. And to his surprise, he was satisfied, even charmed as he heard her breathing slow down and felt her shoulder press against his. He had even contented himself with studying her fine profile and lips' curve and had not even thought of kissing them. They were just there together and it felt good.

He had been hurt, even annoyed, when she had told him that she didn't like the collar. He had thought that she was greedy, like all females, and that she would appreciate its obvious cost. He had even hoped that it would humble and resign her to her station. But he had seen the storm flash in her eyes as she spoke to him and he knew that she was still too proud to accept it. So he acknowledged that little defeat and removed it. And then the look in her eyes, the surprise and relief, dare he even say _gratitude_, had touched him and made him glad to perform that little act of mercy towards her. She responded to kindness, he now knew, and while that didn't come easily to him, he could be kind to her if it meant he got his way in the end.

But the kindness infected him. Lately, his fantasies were no longer of forcing her over a chair or a table. He imagined her on his lap in the parlor, kissing without the _chrusciki _as a pretext. He could hear her little moans and sighs as he trails kisses down her long sleek neck, feel her soft fingers caress his face and hair. She is still shy and hesitant, but in these fantasies, he is careful and tender. He imagines whispering "_Ruhe, Liebling" _as he eases her back upon the couch, reassuring her with light sure strokes along her sides and legs, patiently working his way up her thighs. He can see her face and eyes relax as he fondles her and he realizes she is ready for him. When it happens, and it _will _happen, he told himself, she will be grateful for his patience. Her eyes will roll back with pleasure and she will gasp his name, clutching him deeper with each thrust. He can hear her murmuring afterwards, "What a fool I was, to run from such delicious feelings. Oh, _Preußen_, you are so good to me!" And she would cover him in kisses and beg for another round. He in return would praise her for being so beautiful and such a quick study.

And she _was_ a quick study. He smiled as he recalled their day at Sanssouci. He had planned something to happen, but she had surprised him by taking the initiative. How proudly Danzig had reared up, freeing her breasts from the chemise and corset. He had assumed she had nice ones, but who knew how perfectly white, firm and upright they would be? Her nipples were a paler shade of her lips and they pointed invitingly at him. Her breasts were just the right size, as if God himself had planned the right amount of soft flesh Gilbert could cup in his hand. No wonder the little minx seemed so assured; she knew he couldn't resist such a vision.

Of course he didn't, Gilbert thought, tossing and catching the paper ball. And _she_ didn't back away or refuse when he guided her hand to him, her first touch causing him to bite his lip to hold back a grateful moan. If only he had known in 1577 that those smooth ivory hands, those tapered fingers that had slipped on that ring and sent a shock through his being would willingly stroke and squeeze him in 1873! He would not have felt such embarrassment and anger at Hungary learning he was Poland's lowly vassal and he would not have thrown that expensive ring into the Vistula River. But of course, Danzig couldn't know that.

She could know other things, though. He had debated telling her about the effect she had had on him, as well as his humiliation after Tannenberg. But when he saw her blush and stammer, and her eyes turn the deep blue of dusk, he had felt better. _She didn't know_, she had murmured, and her confusion and compassion made him feel better. Now she knew her brother was not a long-suffering Christ figure; now she knew about his arrogance and cruelty. Best of all, she knew that he, _Prussia_, had suffered; he had been humiliated and insulted. He had loved deeply and lost to death. He was _not_ some unfeeling monster motivated only by power and greed. She finally knew that. How sweetly she had laid her head upon his chest, how gently she had spoken to him at Sanssouci. He had felt his own heart soften towards her, beating in time to her breath as the brook mumbled by them. He had felt happy, unaware that ecstasy was coming around the bend.

He replayed the memory in his head again, seeing her eyes widen and lips open as he kissed her palm, her little gasp, her dark lashes against her pale cheek as she leaned in to kiss him. He saw her watching him, as he throbbed and rutted in her fist, her eyes the color of the Baltic Sea on an overcast day, her oval face as pink and white as an enameled saint's reliquary, her expression the same as one's: regal, tender and—

_Unmoved._ A cloud crossed the memory's sky, driving out the golden light. Gilbert caught the paper ball and paused. He recalled how he panted and moaned, his unbecoming noises and expressions, all while Danzig had been an image of calm loveliness. He squeezed his fist, the paper crackling in protest. The smile left his face. He had lost control, while she had kept hers. Worse, she had been controlling _him. _He glared up at the ceiling, setting his jaw.

She was a minx, after all. A cunning, coldhearted _Polin, _all obedience to his face while scheming behind his back. It would have been exciting to hear her pant and moan in sympathy, to see her flush and stare with lust, but no, she had looked as haughty and composed as she had in 1577. How dare she!

Gilbert bit his lip, pondering what to do. Suddenly, he didn't think he would bother with sauces or powdered sugar to get her to lick him. She had already humiliated him and was probably laughing about how ridiculous he had looked at Sanssouci. He wasn't going to let her think she had the upper hand; she was his pet, here for his amusement, not the other way around. He had been kind and patient long enough. She would learn her place.

The old fantasies roared back: Danzig's hair falling about her face, tears streaking her cheeks, cries of indignation and pleas for mercy. But now they felt shabby and cheap, like a poorly made uniform from a factory. He wanted her to feel powerless, he knew that, but forcing her felt so primitive. He wanted her to look less like a saint and more like a whore, to sob and flush with desire, to beg him for relief. He would be the one in control, free to give and withhold pleasure as he saw fit. Various scenarios ran through Gilbert's head, one causing him to smirk as he saw it play out. He tossed the ball and caught it in triumph. He knew what to do; he had a plan.

**So what do you think of Gilbert's memories and fantasies? What is happening to him, and how do you think it will affect Danzig? Your reviews are so thoughtful and perceptive, they make my day, so I hope to hear what you think.**

1 German: Polish woman

2 German slang: erection, hard-on.


	17. Chapter 17 Her Temptation

**Chapter 17 Her Temptation**

**Some sexual activity near the end.**

For a couple of nights after Sanssouci, Prussia did not summon Adeladja for dinner. She had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, she was relieved to have a quiet evening and early bedtime so she could rest. She was so exhausted! On the other, she wondered if this were a new trick of his, to make her anxious or even miss him. So when he rapped on her door one morning to have her accompany him to his office, she was wary. Of course he wouldn't be satisfied with what she had done to him at Sanssouci, she reasoned. He would want more and she was already regretting her forwardness. She wasn't sure if she could summon up the energy to fight him off or even placate him with more handiwork.

But Prussia had her sit in the wingback chair, sipping tea and eating pastry, while he drank coffee and wrote. Even the tea couldn't keep her awake. There was nothing to do, and none of his books interested her. Adeladja let her mind drift over recent and distant memories as her eyelids fluttered. She had to stay awake, in case he tried something, she thought. She couldn't trust him not to take advantage of her. But she was so tired and closing her eyes felt so good…

A hand brushed her hair. Adeladja startled and turned, ready to flee her chair. Prussia was standing next to her, studying her with burgundy eyes and a small smile on his lips.

"_Ruhe, Liebling,"_ he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just thought you looked so lovely and at peace."

"I'm sorry, Mein Herr," she mumbled. "I've just been so tired lately. I must have fallen asleep."

"You must have been dreaming, then," he replied. "You were shifting and murmuring something in your sleep." His hand continued to stroke her hair as he smiled gently at her. It wasn't his usual smirk, she thought, there was something sweet and kind about it. "_Mein Polnisch Kind, wo weilest du?"_ He whispered.1

Adeladja managed a smile. She knew Wagner's opera. "I'm here, of course," she replied. She honestly couldn't remember her dream.

Prussia squatted down so their faces were level. "Why do you look so sad and tired, Adeladja?" He asked. "Didn't we have a good time at Sanssouci?" A little of his old smirk returned. "What would make you happy right now, _Liebling?"_

She hesitated. "I'd like to write letters to my brother and sister," she finally said, rushing to add, "I want to tell them how kind you were to me, and how I enjoyed the trip to Sanssouci." She figured flattery would help her case.

Instead of complaining or protesting that Poland and Krakow had not written to her, Prussia shrugged and said, "If that makes you happy, Adeladja, then you may write your letters. Just remember the rules, ja?" She nodded, too surprised to question him. He helped her out of the wingchair and led her to his desk, where he produced pen, paper and ink for her. He pulled up a chair and gestured for her to sit.

Adeladja wrote about the décor and gardens of Sanssouci, avoiding the topics of Prussia's conversation with her or her behavior. He approved the letters and sealed them, placing them in his pocket. She sat idle, wondering why he had agreed to this. Maybe it was his way of thanking her for her actions, she thought. Maybe it was part of a plot. She was too tired and heavy-headed to figure out the possibilities. But at least he was being kind to her, and she appreciated it.

"Are you bored, _Liebling_?'" Prussia asked. "Would you like to do something?" His eyes sparkled.

Adeladja panicked for a second, but then an idea came to her. "I'd like some more paper and a pencil, _bitte_," she said. "I'd like to do some sketching because I haven't done so in a while."

Prussia looked disappointed but he handed the materials over to her. "What are you going to draw?"

Adeladja pointed to the bust of Xenophon behind his chair.2 "I'll try that." She moved so she sat across from Prussia and adjusted her seat she could ostensibly view the bust better. She had a three-quarter angle of Prussia as he opened his blank portfolio, dipped his pen in ink, and began to write. Occasionally, he turned to one of the books stacked at his elbow and flipped through it for a reference. She was intrigued that he was able to sit still for so long and take his task so seriously.

If she wanted to be cruel and show his ugliest self to him, she thought, she would exaggerate the sharp nose, narrow his already-long eyes, and exaggerate the predator's smile with sharp incisors. She would hollow out his cheekbones and lengthen his fingers into knotty, grasping claws. But offending him would be foolish. In her sketch, she emphasized his mouth's firm set, the elegant bone structure, square jaw and pointed chin. She sketched the thoughtful gaze when he looked away from the page before writing. She caught how his hair drifted over his forehead, pleased with the way she depicted the light shining on it. She spent the most time on his hands, trying to capture their strength and elegance; hands that could wield a sword, a pen, slap and caress. She highlighted the tendons and downplayed the creases on the knuckles. When she was pleased, she looked up and watched him finish writing a final line.

"What good timing, Adeladja," he said when he looked up from his work. "So let's see your writing warrior." He reached across the desk and took the paper.

Under her lashes, she watched him study the sketch. He looked at it curiously as if seeing something both new and familiar. When he looked at her, it was with respect and even a little fear. Why would he be afraid, she thought, that I have drawn him this way?

"You keep surprising me," he finally said. "This is very good. Would you like an art teacher? I'm not saying that because you're bad—far from it!—but it always helps to have someone look at your work and give ways to improve it. That's why the great artists go study at academies."

"That would be very kind of you, Mein Herr." She imagined a room flooded with sunlight, paints, pastels and canvases, someone else to talk to. It might even help to restore her energy. "But where would I work?"

"That's easy. I'll have an art room set up for you. And at some point," he said excitedly, "you could do a full-length portrait of me and the German Empire. It could be like one of those Renaissance portraits where every prop and setting symbolizes something about the subject. Ludwig will stand next to a desk with some music scores and books on city planning, I'll be in my hussar uniform with one hand on my sabre and other on my journals—"

"There will be a landscape of Sanssouci behind you!" Adeladja then realized she had interrupted him, but he was too overjoyed to notice. "Exactly!" He exclaimed, "and between us, over the table, there'll be a picture of the Kaiser being proclaimed at Versailles. And we'll have helmets and musical instruments, and a globe-it'll be awesome!" He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead; she smiled, relieved. "But now I have to meet with the Chancellor, _Liebling_. Go back to your room and rest up for dinner."

As she lay down on her bed, Adeladja sighed. Once she would have gone for a walk before her lunch or done some needlework, but she felt too fatigued for that now. What is wrong with me? She asked herself. She seemed to need all her strength for a few hours in the evening. She knew Prussia wouldn't be content with only kisses tonight. He'd expect her to at least use her hand, maybe even want more from her. She groaned as she closed her eyes. She didn't think she'd be able to fight him off; he could do anything to her. She had to be prepared. Yet she was so tired! Maybe, she thought, it would be better to simply go along with his wishes; it would certainly be less exhausting than resisting. Maybe she could come up with some variations in her technique that might satisfy him. She blushed a little as she thought of the different pressures, strokes and grips she could use. At least, she thought, that could hold off the next step for a few nights, whatever that step might be. And if he were as spent and grateful as he had been at Sanssouci, _maybe_ she could put that to use. Her brother wanted her to protect and advocate for the Poles in Germany; she could actually start to do that. He had let slip Chancellor Bismarck's contempt for Poles and his plans to force them to become _real_ Germans at the expense of their language and lands. But Prussia had also mentioned that Kaiser Wilhelm had once loved a woman from the great _szlachta _family, the Radziwills, and he had been heartbroken that he could not marry her. As her body relaxed, Adeladja smiled. _Tak_, she thought, she could play on that connection and her own charms to persuade Prussia to advise the Chancellor to show more tolerance towards the Poles. Let them have their businesses, lands and language, she would whisper to him, and they would be loyal subjects of the Empire. The thought pleased her as she drifted into sleep.

The maids woke and dressed her for dinner. Adeladja tried to summon the old nervousness she had felt before, but even that felt drained from her. As she glided into the dining room, she managed a smile at Prussia. She tried to look enthusiastic as he told her that a great military review was planned for the weekend before the Imperial Family left for Potsdam. All the German personifications of the Empire were expected to attend and she would be allowed as well. Prussia made it sound like a great treat and privilege for her, but Adeladja inwardly quailed at sitting in the late spring sun for hours.

It was time to go to the sitting room and the couch. Prussia pulled Adeladja onto his lap and caressed her hair and face, smiling at her. She put a smile on, hoping to mask her worry and fatigue. As he kissed her, she could feel herself being pulled under, tantalized by his lips and tongue. _I can't let myself go_, she thought, _I have to be ready for whatever happens. I have to set the pace and limits. _His hands ran through her hair and along her back and sides. It felt so good to lean into him, to simply give in to his touch, but she had to stay alert.

She wasn't surprised when one of his hands traveled to her breasts and gently squeezed each one. That didn't do much for her, unlike the kisses that trailed down her neck and the nibbles at her earlobes and shoulders. _Those_ threatened to drag her deeper, to the point where she wanted to close her eyes and sink back upon the couch. She forced herself to return the favor, energized and pleased by his sharp intake of breath, when she gently bit and sucked at his lobe. _Good,_ she thought, _if I must be so forward in order to control him, so I will. _

Adeladja traced kisses and nips along Prussia's jawline, back to his lips. She rallied enough to kiss more forcefully and was pleased at his purrs of approval. She could feel his fingers undoing the hooks of her bodice's back, peeling the fabric away, and gently scratching her exposed skin. She shivered at the pleasant feeling. She shook herself slightly and pulled away, so he could admire her décolletage and loosen her chemise's drawstring.

"_Moja pięckna dziewczyna,"_ he whispered, kissing and caressing each breast.3 Adeladja studied him, carefully stroking his fine silver-blond hair. It seemed to give him so much pleasure to do this, she thought, while she could keep calm and detached.

"You are so full of surprises, _kochanie_," he whispered between kisses. Adeladja could feel herself fading as he gently sucked and licked her nipples. "So refined." He kissed and blew on one nipple, making her bite her lip. "So artistic." Kiss and blow on the other. "Yet so good with numbers." A bridge of kisses between the breasts. "And so passionate." A kiss at the side of the neck, a hard one that pressed against her jugular and made her dizzy. "So-o-o pleasing." He squeezed her knee and it was as if all Adeladja's remaining energy rushed to that spot.

Prussia began rubbing her thigh, each stroke going higher up. Adeladja blinked and reminded herself to stay alert. She summoned up enough strength to clamp her thighs together and tried to wiggle off his lap. He squeezed her back onto it, murmuring little comfort sounds in her ear. Adeladja sank against him, watching his pale hand travel further up the dark satin of her dress. She put her own hand over his, trying to stop it.

When he tried to kiss her, she pulled away so he could see her face. "What are you doing? What do you want?" She mumbled.

Prussia leaned in to kiss her neck gently. "I want to touch you, _kochanie._" Adeladja clamped her thighs even tighter. "You gave me such pleasure at Sanssouci, _Liebling_, I want to return the favor," he continued. She was trembling from the effort of clenching her muscles. "I want you to feel as good as I felt."

_Nie, that's not part of the plan_, Adeladja realized. She tried to remove his hand, but he squeezed her thigh. A prickly warmth radiated from his grasp. "Mein Herr, please no—"

"Don't be silly, Adeladja. I'm not going to do more than touch you with my hand. It won't hurt—quite the opposite, I promise." He smiled at her, dark eyes shining like garnets. "Let me caress you there, _kochanie." _He had switched to Polish as he began to move the skirt fabric up along her thigh. "There's nothing to fear. You know I'm not going to leave you with child. We can have all the pleasures without the worries of mortals."

"I know that," Adeladja muttered, trying to stop his hand. "But we can't, because if you do—" she stopped herself and just looked worriedly at him.

"_Wat_?" Prussia's voice was soft, not the sharp snap he usually used when questioning her. "Are you afraid of one of the footmen coming in and seeing us?" Adeladja nodded frantically; even though she was sitting bare-breasted in his lap, she needed any excuse she could take to avoid telling him the real truth. "Then we'll go to your bedroom, _kochanie._ Problem solved!"

"Nie, nie, Mein Herr, not there!" Adeladja was mortified that one of her maids would see evidence of her real role at the Stadtschlosse and gossip about her.

"Then my room. It's quite private and nice." Prussia looked pleased at solving the problem, but Adeladja shook her head frantically.

He cupped her face with his hands and looked intently at her. Adeladja noted with relief his eyes were still a dark wine color and his touch was tender. "Tell me why you hesitate, _kochanie," _he whispered. "Tell me what really worries you." His thumbs gently stroked her cheeks and she felt tears come to her eyes. He had never been so kind and unselfish before; she could feel her objections toppling like besieged walls under fire.

"I'm afraid, Mein Herr, that if you start, things will move—too quickly," she murmured. "That you will make me do things I'm not ready for yet."

She expected him to get impatient or laugh at her and call her a coward or child. But instead he kissed her chastely on the forehead. "_Nie, kochanie_." He was back to Polish again. "Tonight I will control myself. You have all your existence to please me, but tonight I want to please you. You don't have to do anything to me; it's all about your enjoyment." He looked at her and chuckled a little. "Don't you know what a lucky girl you are? I don't usually beg women to let me pleasure them!"

Adeladja blushed as she pulled her bodice up to cover her breasts. "Mein Herr, you may start with the best intentions, but will you be able…" she trailed off, studying him. _Will I be able to trust you or is this a trick?_

Prussia gestured for her to turn around so he could hook up her dress's bodice. As his fingers nimbly worked, he said, "Adeladja, I promise that I will go no farther than caressing you between your legs. I'll keep my clothes on and you only have to take off your dress and that bustle thing. Keep everything else on if that makes you feel safer. I'll only use my hand there, nothing else. I'll stop before things get out of control." He turned her to face him again and looked her in the eyes. "I swear on my honor." She stared back, suspicious. Her brother's experience with Prussian honor had left her unimpressed. Prussia exhaled, his breath rustling his forelock of silver-blond hair. "How about this? If I break any of those conditions I just said, you get to punish me. You can slap me in public and call me a liar and dishonorable cad before all the German entities at the military review. You can even do it in front of the German Empire! Now doesn't that make you feel better?" He leaned closer to nuzzle her neck and whisper, "Haven't I kept my word with you so far?"

She shivered at his warm breath caressing her skin. She thought about the last few weeks and how he had behaved towards her. He had even offered consequences if he broke his word; she could think of at least one German kingdom—Saxony—that would enjoy seeing her humiliate him. She smiled a little. _But what if he is only lying about that? _She pushed the nagging voice away; she was too overwhelmed and tired to entertain such thoughts. "Put it in writing," she managed.

Prussia drew back from her, eyebrows raised. Adeladja began to turn away from him and slide off his lap, when he held her arm and muttered, "Sure, if that makes you feel better." He pulled out his memo book and pencil from his military tunic and scribbled down the conditions. "See?" He showed her the paper that repeated his promises to her. Before he could pull it away, Adeladja ripped the page from the book and slid it into her glove.

"Ja," she said finally. "We'll go to your room."

Adeladja followed Prussia through the salons and halls until they came to the library. He opened a door between a pair of bookcases and she followed him up a dark stairwell. They stopped at a door and she heard him turn a key. She wondered for a second how Prussia felt, living a life in hidden rooms in this palace, a ghost cohabiting with royal families, courtiers and advisors.

He gestured for her to follow him into the room and he lit a gas lamp. The first thing that struck her was the room's orderliness. Even in the dim light, she could see books lined up neatly on shelves, prints and paintings hung on the dark-blue walls in symmetrical groups, and a clean, organized desk. The only luxurious item in the room was the large four-poster bed with cornflower blue curtains and a motley assortment of Eastern-looking pillows.

He began kissing her and she clung to him to keep from falling. He pulled away and he began undressing her, as methodically as one of her maids. Soon she was down to her corset, shift, pantaloons, stockings and shoes.

"Take down your hair," he told her, and she took out the pins and shook the heavy waves past her shoulders. He embraced and nuzzled her, inhaling deeply. Then he turned her so she could see the two of them in his dressing mirror. "Look how beautiful you are," he whispered. Adeladja thought she looked like a girl in a French brothel. She turned her head away, but Prussia caught her chin and turned her back to face the reflection. "Really. Someday you'll stand here naked and unashamed." She blushed. In the convent and her house on Long Street, she had always dressed and undressed in the dark and washed herself as quickly as possible. Even in the Stadtschlosse, she averted her gaze from her body until she was dressed.

They sat down on the bed together and kissed some more. When he gently pressed her back on the bed, she obeyed. He leaned on one arm next to her as he kissed her mouth, neck and breasts. As he ran his free hand up and down her corseted middle, pressing on her lower belly, she could feel herself warming and loosening up under his touch.

Prussia stroked her thigh, urging her to straighten out her leg. "Such little ankles," he purred, caressing her calf. "Such lovely legs." His fingers hooked under the garter and teasingly snapped it. His hand inched up her inner thigh, closer to the slit in her drawers. Adeladja had to breathe deeply. _Don't panic_, she told herself. _He's keeping his clothes on, he's being gentle, and he's keeping his word. But oh, I shouldn't allow this!_

His hand slid under the cotton pantaloons, brushing her inner thighs and groin. She gasped at the energy sparking underneath his touch. She felt her legs part and his hand tease and pull lightly at the hair around her cleft. His fingers traced her other lips, as he murmured, "Ah, you're so soft, even your _Schamhaar_ is like silk."4 Adeladja began to relax as he fondled her; it wasn't awful, she thought, but it wasn't exciting either. At least she could lie here and study his face, relieved at how soft his eyes were as he petted her.

He took one of her hands and placed it over her mound and on top of his. "Show me how to touch you, _Liebste,_" he whispered. Adeladja looked blankly at him, her hand still. His eyes widened in disbelief. "You mean , you never. . . ?"

"The nuns told me it was a sin, that God would punish me and my mortals if I did it." Adeladja felt more ashamed of herself than when she had stood before the mirror.

Prussia bit his lips and she thought he was going to laugh at her. Instead, he stroked her hair and looked at her with amusement and affection. "Isn't it odd," he mused, "that God created mortals and even us to feel pleasure in such a fashion and yet the mortals have come up with all these ways to call it sinful and wrong? When I was the Teutonic Order, they also told me, 'it's a sin,' but the first time I did it, it was awesome, even more than fighting! And I love fighting!" He laughed and Adeladja joined in; when she stopped, she realized she liked him when he was like this. "And you know what the best part is?" He whispered as his fingers probed between her folds. "It gets better the more you do it."

She began to tense and he planted soft little kisses on her cheek and neck. "Relax, _kochanie_." He switched back to Polish. "I'll touch you and you let me know what feels good, _tak_?" She nodded anxiously, keeping her eyes on his. He stroked her and then his index finger started swirling against a little button of flesh. It felt like a tickle except without the annoying quality—her hips rose to meet his hand. Actually, it felt good, warmth spreading through her abdomen, fluttering in her belly. She kissed him back, her legs opening like a book. She was relaxing, basking in the sensation's warmth, feeling her energy grow and center itself on the very spot it touched. She felt more alive than she had for several weeks, she finally felt eager about something, something that felt so good that-

_MMmmppff. _She thought it was Prussia at first, but then she saw that he had stopped kissing her and was watching her as she panted for air. _That was me_, she realized, and she was confused and a little angry, until he rubbed harder and she gasped at how good it felt and how it promised something even better_. MMmmm_, she mewed like a hungry kitten, and she rose under his hand, trying to maintain the angle that would intensify the feeling.

Suddenly, Prussia rolled away from her, withdrawing his hand. "Oh _Liebste,_ I must keep my word," he sighed dramatically. Adeladja glared at his profile. The good feelings had just started and now he was done? "Go put on your dress," he said and she slowly got up and pulled the bustle, bodice and skirt on as best as she could. She checked her glove and saw that the paper was still there. _Good_. He escorted her down to the library. "Sleep well," he said and kissed her on the forehead.

As Adeladja walked back to her own bedroom, resentment simmered in her chest and elsewhere. He had pulled a curtain back on something that was intriguing and pleasurable, and just as she had begun to enjoy it, he had hidden it again. But, she told herself, _I _have fingers and hands; now I know what to do. She was eager to return to her bed and finish on her own what he had started.

Adeladja tried to be patient as the maids properly undressed her and put her in a light lawn nightgown. Just as she assumed they would leave, in stepped the head of the chambermaids, carrying some kind of wrap. The two women stared at each other. "Hold out your arms, _bitte,_" the older mortal said, and when Adeladja did, she slipped them into two long sleeves that another maid began to wrap around her back. Adeladja pulled away in horror. "What is this?" She demanded.

"It is a sleeping device, Fraulein." The maid shrugged. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"I sleep perfectly well on my own," Adeladja snapped. "I don't need this." She tried to shake off the sleeves but the other maid pulled back firmly at them.

"Herr Preußen has decided that you _do_," The head chambermaid retorted. "Now let us fasten the straps and put you to bed."

"Nein." Adeladja glared back at the mortal and shook her arms free. "I will not wear this."

The woman nodded at the other maid. "Tell Herr Preußen to come here."

"Yes, do." Adeladja called after the little mortal scurrying out of the room. She wasn't going to let this servant think she felt threatened. "He and I will talk about this."

The senior chambermaid raised a brow. "Of course you will, Fraulein."

When Prussia came to Adeladja's room in his dressing gown, she noted the dark circles under his eyes and his messy silver hair. "Wear the jacket, Adeladja." He sounded like an exhausted parent summoned for the tenth time by a frightened child.

She drew herself up to her full height and threw the jacket down on the ground. The junior maid rushed to pick it up. "No," she said, "I don't see why I should, I—"

He strode over to her and she cringed, expecting a slap. Instead, he took her by the shoulder and led her away from the mortals. "Adeladja," he whispered into her ear, "you are going to sleep in that jacket. You can put it on now without a fight and all will be well. Or we will force you into it and you can be sure that you will never again experience what happened this evening and things will go _very _badly for you. Do you understand me?" His voice was soft and precise.

Adeladja shivered. She was so angry she couldn't look at him. Her body remembered the earlier part of the evening, the promise of pleasure if only she gave up a little dignity. "I'll wear it," she muttered.

"_Gutes Mädchen_," he said absently as he kissed her on the head. As he turned away, she blurted out, "But you must put it on me, Mein Herr."

He paused, glanced back at her. "Nein. That's the maids' job. _Gute Nacht."_ He left the room.

"Fraulein." The head chambermaid held up the jacket with its hateful long sleeves and straps. Adeladja let them put her in it and cross her arms over her chest and fasten the remaining lengths behind her. She flopped down on the bed, feeling like a corpse in a shroud. The energy Prussia had stirred up earlier in the evening left her, and she felt herself spiral downward into a heavy sleep.

**So what do you think is Prussia's plan and what do you think of it? What do you think is going on in Adeladja's mind (and body) at this point? I always appreciate your thoughtful responses and criticisms, so please leave a review!**

1 German: My Polish child, where are you now? Prussia is paraphrasing the opening line of Richard Wagner's opera, _Tristan und Isolde_.

2 Xenophon of Athens (c. 430-354 BC) was a contemporary of Socrates and primarily known as a soldier, historian and philiosopher. He wrote military and political histories, dialogues, and one of the earliest treatises on horsemanship.

3 Polish: my pretty girl

4 German: pubic hair, pubes


	18. Chapter 18 Her Torment

**Chapter 18 Her Torment**

**I revised the ending of the chapter to be more true to Adeladja's emotions at this point. We also get Prussia's point-of-view at the end. Thanks to Anna S. Rosenbaum and Korosuka for their feedback!**

Adeladja spent the morning glowering in Prussia's office. He was holding last-minute meetings with officers and staff about the weekend's military review. She still smarted about the indignity of the straitjacket. Once again, he always added a condition to a kind act, she thought bitterly. Well maybe _she_ could do the same. She thought of her earlier ideas about influencing him to tell Bismarck to be more lenient to the Empire's Poles and resolved on it. When she went back to her room for her nap, she planned her actions and words until she was contented and fatigued. She would need her rest, she decided, as she surrendered to sleep.

At dinner, she shrugged when he offered her fresh asparagus from Potsdam, American rice and a ham seasoned in the Polish style. Even the _sernik_ with strawberries for dessert only got polite thanks from her.1 He will have to do better than this to distract her, she thought. She debated refusing to come to the couch, but then decided that being close to him might work better to her advantage.

Prussia could be as tender as he pleased, she thought, as he purred compliments about her hair and gown while stroking her cheek. She would let him grow concerned about her distance, and then spring her opening attack on him. Finally, he broke.

"Why so cold, _kochanie?_" He asked as he played with her curls.

She turned to him. "I was just thinking, Mein Herr, that any kindness, any pleasure that you offer is going to end with me wrapped up like a lunatic in my bed. I don't know what I have done to deserve that."

To her annoyance, he laughed. "That's to keep you from indulging in vice! That's a very bad thing for women, you know. Look at what it has done to poor Hungary!" Adeladja thought of vibrant, beautiful Elizabeta, equally at home on horseback, in a fencing school or a ballroom, and curled her lip.

"I can't imagine Austria taking such measures to protect her health," she retorted.

Prussia shrugged. "Of course not! But they have been intimate a long time together, and I guess he keeps her occupied enough not to do such things." He leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "Now, Adeladja, if you were to sleep in the same bed with me, as they do, you wouldn't require that, would you?"

"What if I gave you my word I wouldn't…_do that_…in my bed? Would you take away the jacket, then?"

Prussia snorted. "A woman's word is like a soap bubble: shiny, empty, and short-lived. Men have honor, women have virtue, and I am only protecting yours by guiding it in the right direction." He patted her knee and she edged away from him.

"Ach, Adeladja, don't be cold! I won't be able to be with you tomorrow night. I have all these regiments to visit and to see to the arrival of the other German personifications! Let us be sweet to each other, ja?" He put an arm around her and slid closer to her. "_Liebling, _I want to please you, just as I did last night. I'll even control myself a little longer. _Bitte_, _mein hübsches Mädchen,_ let me caress you again. I loved seeing the color come to your cheeks and your eyes sparkle."2

"_Nie_." Adeladja turned her head from him. When he took her chin and made her look at him, she said in Polish, "How can I possibly lose myself to base pleasures when my people and my brother suffer from harsh laws and treatment? I can't be that selfish."

"'Your people'? Your people are German, girl!" Prussia laughed in German. "You're a German city, a Prussian one to be precise. They are fine, Adeladja, as long as they obey the laws and do their duty to their King and Emperor."

"_Nie_, I am a _Polish_ city, Poland's sister," Adeladja snapped. She could feel her energy rising and her chest and face burning; she was grateful to feel such emotion.

Prussia studied her, his playful mood gone. "Adeladja, have you checked your city's census? Do you know how many Germans live in Danzig?" She was going to retort that mortals didn't matter, but he placed a finger on her lip. "You have a large German majority, _Liebling._ And yet you claim to be Polish, even a sister of Poland. If that were the case, why haven't you faded away and disappeared? Why isn't there a new entity, a German Danzig, growing stronger and taking over your city?" He smirked at her.

Adeladja paused. What he had said was true. Germans had lived in her city for centuries, and after the Third Partition, many Poles had left and more Germans had arrived. And yet, she was still alive, still proclaiming herself to be a Polish, rather than German, entity. She finally spoke. "Because of my history, my kinship with Feliks. He found and took me in, he called me his _mała siostra."_3She flashed her eyes at him. _"You_ came later and brought your mortals. But he and his mortals were first."

Prussia looked amused. "And you took my mortals in and even made some of them your mayors and leading citizens. You are as German as you are Polish, _Mädchen_. Now you are mine and your brother is just a collection of mortal dreamers and plotters scattered all over the world."

"Poland is not yet dead." Adeladja retorted.

"Pffft. Not _yet_ dead, I admit, but history is against him. Between me and the Empire, Ivan, and even that milksop Roderich, he will never be on the world's map again. We are all too strong, clever, _and united_ against it." Prussia tried to embrace her and she drew away. He would have to force himself now, she decided. "Admit it, Adeladja," he whispered, "your loyalty is touching, but misplaced. You are a German city now."

Adeladja didn't know what to say. She knew what she felt, which was entirely Polish, but he was right. Most of her mortals were German, she was located in the Kingdom of Prussia, and she was here now, as Prussia's—whatever. But it was not her truth. _That _was her history as Feliks's sister, his Royal City with many privileges. She couldn't let go of that, she thought, because if she did, then she was entirely Prussia's. And she couldn't bear that.

"Adeladja, _Liebling, _why fight the tide?" Prussia's voice was soft, low and even pleasing as it slipped into her ear. "Chance and geography just made you fall into Felik's hands. You are a Baltic city, that is true. But you have survived being Polish, being mine under the Teutonic Order, being Polish, being Prussian, and now German. Look at yourself and look at Poland and Krakow. They could be twins, but you? _Mein Gott, _ Bohemia and Slovakia look more like Poland's siblings than you do!4You look like Lithuania; you could even be a Nordic, who floated across the seas from Sweden or Denmark, for all we know. What if Matthias Køhler or Berwald Oxensternia had claimed you? Then you'd be a Danish or Swedish city, ja? You'd still exist, but now you'd be telling me you're their sister, or in Sweden's case, his _wife!" _ He laughed and Adeladja yearned to slap him.

"But that didn't happen," she insisted. "_Poland_ found me and he called me 'sister'! He treated me well, and I love him for it!"

"But if it had been me, Lithuania, Sweden or anyone else claiming you first, then what would you be?" Prussia asked. "You'd be pining after them or happy to be reunited with _me._" He smirked when Adeladja grew flustered. "You see, _Schatz,_ there's no real kinship. Just a matter of geography or timing."

Adeladja glowered at him. Prussia pulled out a thin cigar, lit it and got up. He strolled over to the mantelpiece of the small room and exhaled blue smoke at the pictures.

"And you, Mein Herr?" she demanded. "You claim you are German and yet you came from the Holy Land." She grew bolder. "Maybe you are not what you claim to be, after all."

Prussia raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I appeared among German Crusaders," he replied, "and the farther west and north they took me, the stronger I grew. Now would that have happened if I were an Arab personification?"

"Your coloring, then." Adeladja grasped at that straw. "You don't look like the Empire and yet you call him brother. You don't look like any of the other German entities."

Prussia shrugged. "Maybe the Eastern sun bleached me out and burnt my eyes." He smiled, looking into the distance. "My first masters used to say that it was a sign that I was unique, that God had a special destiny for me." Adeladja wanted to retort that maybe it was the Devil, but she felt as if the mood for a fight had passed. Prussia seemed far away, in a haze of blue smoke.

"Did Feliks ever tell you about our first meeting?" He asked. She nodded. She remembered that Poland and Krakow had told her about the skinny boy with strange coloring who had come to court and burst out with boasts of his travels and fighting prowess. But time had slowed and she waited to hear his viewpoint.

"In 1226," he began, "The Duke of Masovia asked me and my Order to come in to protect his land from the pagans. I went to Krakow to meet your brother, explain my presence there and what we were to do." Adeladja nodded. "I met this dainty-looking, blonde _person_, about my age, dressed in splendid clothes and surrounded by male and female mortals. I introduced myself to him _or her, _ and you know the first thing Poland said to me? 'Your Latin is terrible; who taught you so badly?'" Adeladja smiled; it was a typical thing for Feliks to blurt out when meeting new people who made him uncomfortable.

"The voice let me know I was speaking to a boy. So he then invited me to eat with him, even though, as he put it, 'we are observing Lent, so things will be very humble.' I didn't expect much. After all, I had bread and water during Lent. But then your brother led me to this table filled with fish, vegetables and more food than I saw on a feast day! And as we ate, I saw how the mortal women kept plying him with dishes. '_Pan Łukasiewicz, _try my pierogies with mushrooms!' or '_Mały mistrz, _I pickled these turnips just for you!'5 And he _picked _at them, as if he couldn't be bothered. Meanwhile, I was eating delicacies off a trencher of the best rye bread I had ever eaten in my life! _Mein Gott, _ I thought to myself, if this is Lent, what does he eat on Easter? And the men were praising every observation he made." Prussia gazed at her. "It was their looks at him that killed me. So proud, so loving, and all for this silly creature that looked like he could barely lift a knife." Adeladja bristled; her brother looked delicate, but he was a brave and persistent fighter. "Do you know what I felt when I left that day? _Envy._ Ja, Adeladja, I envied your brother, not just for his land and food, but the adoration in his mortals' eyes. I whipped myself that evening for succumbing to the deadly sin of envy."

Adeladja had nothing to say. She had always assumed that Prussia hated her brother for his land and belief in liberty, but to hear him talk of his envy about his people surprised her. She tried to recall Prussia as the Teutonic Order—thin, dirty, loud and bossy—and this new revelation made her see something under the grime and boasts.

"I wanted people who would dote on me, like his did, praising his remarks in Latin, offering a new shirt when he spilled sauce on his. I saw Krakow there, and how she smiled and laughed at what I thought were stupid jokes, just because she was his sister. I wanted young mortals to study and play with, like the youth who left with him after his meal was done."Prussia looked off into the distance. "That's why, in 1308, when he and your mortals asked for help in getting rid of Brandenburg and his troops, I was happy to agree. My master told me his plan to take you and your mortals for ourselves and it seemed worth the risk." His voice drifted across the room. "When I found you in the convent and realized you were the city, I was excited. The Grand Master wanted to execute you and find another entity to be our new city, but I pleaded for you. You were about my age _and _you were a personification. I told him that you could learn German and become an abbess. I wanted a playmate." He looked thoughtfully at her. "I wanted you to be my _Schwester."_ He narrowed his eyes and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "But you were so cold to me, Adeladja."

Adeladja had to turn away. She remembered how much she hated the Teutonic Order for storming her city under false pretences and destroying her mortals. And yet the hurt in Prussia's eyes bothered her. "You found Maria," she finally said. "And she became your sister." She gained some strength. "She looked more like you and she was better at theology than I was." She narrowed her eyes in return. "You used to jeer at me and call me your 'market girl.'"

"Well, ja." Prussia shrugged. "You proved to be better at numbers and bargains than Scholasticism, and Maria was always better at abstract thought than both of us." He meandered back to the couch, a blue haze hanging over his head. "So you still proved to be useful, until you, Thorn, and Elbing got silly ideas into your head that life with Feliks would be better than with me."

"And it was," she retorted. "Feliks was glad that we were good at trade. He never made us feel that it was a distant second place after religion!" She tensed as soon as she said the words, expecting a blow.

Prussia just loomed over her, smiling. He helped himself to the decanter of schnapps and offered her a glass. Adeladja took it, reflecting that the glass could be a useful weapon if she needed it. One of them might end up bleeding on the floor by the end of the evening, she thought, and if it were she, at least she went with her virtue and loyalty intact.

"But that's the past, _kochanie_. And here you are with me, once again. On your volition, I may add." Prussia winked at her as he raised his glass of schnapps.

"For love of my brother," she replied. She didn't expect him to clink glasses with her, but to her surprise, he did. "To the love and loyalty of a sister," he murmured, and he looked wistful. Adeladja remembered that Poland had rescued Prussia's sister from a pack of French mortals at Jena. Feliks had always told her and Krakow that the battlefield was no place for them, but he had repeated that more frantically over the years since 1806. _Of course, _she realized, _he had seen Maria's fate at Jena._

She studied Prussia. He had downed his shot and was now staring off into the distance. When he turned to look at her, she was moved by how young and lonely he looked. When he sat down next to her, she did not edge away.

"Adeladja, this weekend, you will meet the other German entities. They are all thriving, interesting characters, united under the Empire and looking forward to a future as part of a great European power. Don't you want to be a part of that? Why long for the past? Why attach yourself to a nation who lost so badly that he no longer exists, when you can be the cherished city of the greatest kingdom in the German Empire?"

"I thought Königsberg is your cherished city," she replied, looking down at the amber liquid in her crystal glass. That was the place his sister Maria personified.

"She should be, ja? Yet things have not been good between us for awhile." She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, and saw a wry little smile touch his mouth. He also studied his glass, his eyes shimmering. When he turned to her, she could see the sadness despite the smirk. "See how I don't live in the past, pining for what can no longer be? Instead, I look at my present situation, see what I can use, and plan for a better future. That's what you should do, _Schatz. _ Look at where you are and see how it can lead to a happier, more successful existence." He offered a toast, and she hesitated. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore, and she clinked his glass reluctantly. They downed their shots. Prussia placed his glass on the table and edged closer to her.

"Let's not waste this evening," he said softly. He leaned over to kiss her neck and she pulled away. _I need to be careful and not push him to anger_, she thought. "Adeladja, tell me. What can I do or say to make you feel more kindly?"

Her opening, she realized. "Talk in Polish to me," she replied primly. To her surprise, Prussia shrugged.

"Of course, _kochanie_," he replied. "It shall be our private language in private places, ja? But don't ask me to sing Polish songs or speak it in public! The Chancellor has laws against that, kesesese." He looked hurt when she didn't join in his laughter. "What else, _kochanie?"_

"What you just said about the Chancellor's new laws," Adeladja said. She gazed thoughtfully at him. "Why must he do that? Doesn't he know that we Poles are stubborn and push back when pushed? Why can't you tell him that those laws will only create greater resistance? Let people teach their children Polish and speak it in their daily lives," she urged gently. "It is a little thing, and they will still use German in official business and public places when they must."

She could see Prussia about to speak and then he stopped himself. Reluctantly, he nodded. "I will make a case to the Chancellor about the possible negative consequences of those laws," he conceded, "but in the end, I can only advise. Our mortals govern us, not the other way around." He smiled at her. "Does that make you feel better, _kochanie?"_

"No straitjacket tonight either."

At this, Prussia frowned. "_Nie, _Adeladja. That's a new part of your health regimen. You can deny my touching you all you want, but you'll still wear it anyway." He shifted, putting his arm around her. It weighed across her shoulders like a yoke. "So you might as well get some pleasure, instead of refusing it. The end result is the same."

Adeladja sighed. She imagined herself fighting off the maids with the hated jacket, but her strength was so diminished, she knew it would be futile._ Like longing for the past, _she thought. The night's whole conversation suddenly crested like a wave and knocked her breath and resolve out of her. She felt even weaker than she had that afternoon. Tears rose in her eyes and rolled onto her cheeks.

"Oh, _kochanie_, why do you weep?" At Prussia's soft exclamation and gentle touch on her cheek, she burst into tears. When he pulled her in for a hug, she couldn't fight him off. He murmured sweet little noises into her hair, rocking her gently. "Tell me what you want, what you need. Anything to stop this crying!"

"I want to go to my city, Mein Herr," she sobbed. "Please! Come with me, be my honored guest, sit in on all my meetings with my mortals. But please, take me to Gd—Danzig, so I may see my house and people. I've never been away for so long!"

"Oh, Adeladja, not now!" At this, she wept harder, burying her face in the good wool of his military tunic. "Sh, sh, _kochanie_." Little kisses landed on her hair. "I will take you after this whole military review weekend is over. How about that? Will that stop your sobbing? _Proszę powiedzieć tak, drogie dziewczyny."_6

_ "Tak_," she mumbled into his coat. It might stop these tears, but not the lingering sadness and exhaustion she still felt. She wiped her eyes and when she looked up at him, he handed her a handkerchief. As she blotted her face, he caressed her cheek and hair, looking concerned.

"We will go to Danzig," Prussia said softly. "Invite one of your best families' most respected widows or matrons to stay and be our chaperone, if that will reassure you. I'll hear what your mayor and council say, and I'll even advise you on how to answer them. We'll plan for your revival as an important trade city, just as in the days of the Hanseatic League. Does that make you happier, _moja piedaczka?_7

Adeladja nodded. Prussia leaned in and whispered, "Let me make you _even_ happier, _kochanie_. Let me replace those tears with joy." His hand strayed back to her lap.

She didn't resist when he helped her up from the sofa and through the hallways to his bedroom. She stood, numb and drained, as he unhooked her bodice, skirt and bustle and led her to his bed. "Our conditions," she managed to say as he lay her down upon his bed.

"Of course. I'll keep my word." Prussia kissed her and even though she didn't feel like responding, she didn't stop him. His hand found his way under her petticoats and drawers and started to stroke and circle her. She realized he was being gentle, but this time his fingers felt rough and irritating. _This is ridiculous, _she thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. _This solves nothing_. He could rub and stroke all he wanted, but she was still miserable. She felt so tired, she couldn't even push his hand away. _So weak, so useless, so alone, except for _him,_ of all entities. _She screwed her eyelids shut to hold back the tears, but finally she surrendered and burst into a wail.

"_Mein Gott, _Adeladja! What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Prussia finally stopped touching her, and Adeladja shook her head, covering her face with her hands. "Please, stop with the crying! Do you want me to do something else?"

"Just, please don't. It doesn't work, Mein Herr. Please," she snuffled into her hands. She felt him gather her into his arms and draw her back to his chest.

"Adeladja, why are you crying? I said we would go to Danzig after the military review. I just want to make you happy, why the _verdammt_ tears?" At this, she wept harder. She could feel his hands pat her back and hair awkwardly as his voice grew more frantic. "Tell me what's wrong, Adeladja."

"I just—I'm so tired all the time, so lo-lo-," she couldn't bring herself to say the word.

"Lonely?" He asked and she nodded, sobbing. "But you have me, _Liebling_. And I just want to please you and make you happy. We'll go to Danzig, I promise. Does that make you feel a little better?"

Adeladja nodded. She had that to cling to, she told herself. He would take her back to her city, her house on Long Street. Even if she had to be there with Prussia watching her every move, at least it would be home.

"What else can I do, _kochanie?_" Prussia whispered. "Shall I just hold you?" She nodded dumbly, and he snuggled closer to her. His anxious pats had settled down to gentle strokes on her back and hair. It felt good, she realized, much better than what he had been doing before. She snuffled and hiccupped until she could breathe steadily again and the tears slowed.

"Such a pretty girl," Prussia murmured. ". My girl, my city. Such a soft, lovely, lovable girl." Adeladja rallied enough to look up at him and reply, "Such a red-eyed, teary girl," and he laughed gently as he kissed the tears drying on her cheeks.

"It means you are alive, _kochanie. _You feel deeply and it shows. So why not feel pleasure and joy?" She turned to face him and saw how dark his eyes were in the dim gaslight. When his lips sought hers, she turned away. "All right, _Liebling_," he said, to her relief. "I'll just hold you a little longer."

Adeladja felt Prussia's free hand gently brush her damp hair from her forehead and his lips press upon her forehead and cheeks. She would have wept at how tender he was being, but she was drained of tears. She felt too heavy and tired to move. For a second, she thought of asking him to let her stay in his bed. She could avoid the shameful jacket and make him even happier with her. But then she thought of the liberties she had given and received, and realized she was making herself more vulnerable to him. _My city_, he had called her, and if she stayed the night, she feared she would become entirely his. _Not yet_, she thought.

Prussia still caressed her hair, face and back, calling her _kochanie, Schatz, _and other Polish and German pet names. Why can't I be both? She thought forlornly. Why can't I be Polish and German? Maybe she really was, she thought, and that was why she had not faded away as the Germans dominated her population.

_But I'm fading now,_ she thought. She tried to sit up on her elbows and it felt as if she were trying to pull up a heavy weight with a cotton thread. Prussia helped her sit up and she leaned against him. Would sleeping with Prussia keep her alive or destroy her? Would saying to him, _Ja, I am your city now. Poland was my past. A lovely one, but still the past, _revive her? What would it do to Feliks and Elena? She hung her head, too tired and frightened to think of the answer.

"Time for bed, _mein verschlafenes Mädchen_," Prussia finally said.8 He helped her dress and escorted her back to her bedroom. When she saw the maids with the hated straitjacket, she wanted to stamp her feet and cry like a spoiled child. But when he ushered her in and kissed her goodnight (as politely as if they had spent the evening playing cards and music), she held out her arms to the maids and stepped into her prison.

* * *

She had looked just like she did in his fantasies: red-faced, tear-stained, begging him to stop. But Gilbert had not felt aroused; he had felt confused and frightened at how she had sobbed so deeply. He had been gentle, he swore he had, but she had not responded like she had the previous night. For a second, he had wanted to shake her and tell her to stop the _verdammt _crying, but when he had looked into her eyes and seen the misery there, he couldn't do it.

His irritation had flickered for one second and he had felt something else. He wanted the tears to stop, he would have done anything to make that happen, but it was more than that. He had wanted to comfort her, to let her know he wouldn't hurt her. He had felt pity, that rare thing, pierce his heart. He normally despised that emotion and the beings who inspired it. But he had not felt contempt towards Danzig at that moment: just pity, compassion, and something softer, stronger that had pulled at him.

So he had been content to hold her and touch her the way he had held Ludwig as a boy when he had had nightmares or lost a pet dog. And strangely, it had felt good to do that, to know that he could be strong yet tender towards a weaker being. He had heard her breathing return to normal, felt her heaving stop under his hands, and he had felt not just relieved, but touched by a deeper emotion.

Gilbert got ready for bed and slipped under the sheets. He studied the dark room's ceiling, making out the bedposts and hangings. The _Polin_ had a way of unnerving him, he thought. But this time, he didn't want to punish her for it. He had wanted to hold her longer against his body, to hear her breathing slow as she fell asleep against him. He wouldn't have tried anything sly or amorous; he had just wanted to feel her warm body and soft skin against his, to know that she felt safe enough to relax around him.

He didn't want her to fight and struggle anymore, he realized. The crying Danzig resisting him no longer held any charms; he imagined her smiling wantonly instead, holding her arms out to him, and whispering sweetly, "Please, _Gilbert_, take me now or I'll die!" That's what he wanted, he thought, as he turned on his side. If they went to Danzig, he would try to find some lusty widow or romantic matron to stay with them at Danzig's house. Someone, he mused, who would be more interested in napping than accompanying them on carriage rides. Someone who would sleep heavily through the night and not hear footsteps going from one room to another. Someone who already knew the pleasures of love and want him and his girl to know the same. Ja, he thought as he closed his eyes. He wanted his pet to laugh and smile when he played with her, to shine with desire for him.

**For people reading this chapter for the first time: what do you think is going on with Adeladja, especially her sense of identity? And for those who read the first version and have hopefully reread this, what do you think of the change and addition of Prussia's viewpoint? What do you think is going on with him? Thanks so much for your thoughtful reviews!**

1 Polish cheesecake

2 German: Please, my pretty girl

3 Polish: little or younger sister

4 Bohemia was the nineteenth century name for the region of the Czechs; Slovakia was the name for the Slovak region in the nineteenth century.

5 Polish: mister or sir. Little champion

6 Polish: Please say yes, dear girl

7 Polish: poor girl

8 German: my sleepy girl


	19. Chapter 19 Her Spell

**Chapter 19 Her Spell**

**Hey, everyone, look who's here! Fem!Germany (who in my headcanon is the personification of the electorate/kingdom/province of Hannover), Saxony, and Bavaria. There are even references to the United Kingdom! Enjoy!**

Adeladja struggled to sit upright in the early June sun. The military review had _finally_ ended, and the female German personifications chatted excitedly amongst themselves. Soon it would be time to get up and walk to the reception that was waiting for the entities off the Stadtschlosse grounds. She hoped it wouldn't be too far; even though she had been sitting for a few hours, her legs felt quivery and uncertain.

She had barely managed to stay awake during the review. So many mortals, so many horses, so many brightly colored uniforms and weapons gleaming in the sun; she had had to close her eyes to shield them from the brightness on display. Even the military bands playing strident marches had become background noise to the conversations around her. Every female German personification announced to her neighbor how hot she was, how many layers of clothing she was wearing, how tightly her corset was laced, but it sounded more as if they were in a competition for who was the most stalwart and correctly dressed than complaints. Adeladja's own maids had laced her especially small for the occasion and her red-and-yellow walking dress weighed heavily on her body. Her tightly buttoned, high-heeled boots squeezed her feet and even her small straw hat pressed down on her hair filled with pads and false pieces. She dabbed at the sweat on her face and under her jawline; how desperately she wanted a glass of water and some shade!

Adeladja wondered if she could plead illness and go back to her room to undress and lie down. It wasn't as if anyone but Prussia would miss her company, she thought bitterly. The German entities barely acknowledged her existence, so eager they were to catch up with each other. She had tried to be friendly to Alsace, hoping that their statuses as territories here against their will might be common ground, but the brunette snubbed her, muttering something in Alemannic German that she didn't understand. She did hear occasional references to herself—"Danzig," "_Polin_" and "Prussia" emerged occasionally from the hodge-podge of German dialects and voices—but no one had done more than nod briefly at her. And now she would have to face walking and socializing with them for another hour. She didn't think she could tolerate it.

"Fraulein Łukasiewicz?" A male voice rang over the chatter. It was deeper than Prussia's and she wondered if it were the German Empire himself. But when she looked up, she smiled. It was the Kingdom of Saxony, tall and powerful-looking in the light blue uniform of the Sachsen Garde-Reiter Regiment. He squinted at her through his spectacles and brushed back a lock of blond hair that had escaped from the queue he wore it in.

"Mein Herr Saxony," she murmured, offering her hand. He took it and kissed the air above it, clicking the heels of his polished boots. She was pleased to hear some of the murmuring around her stop and exclamations of "Mein Herr!" and "Gisil!" from the women.

"I had heard reports that you were in Berlin, Fraulein," Saxony said in his resonant voice. "And I am pleased to see you here today. It's been a bear of a morning with this heavy Berlin heat, ja?" His face was kind and worried.

"And I am so pleased to see you also, Mein Herr," Adeladja replied, her voice cracking a little. Saxony had been in personal union with Poland through the eighteenth-century, and while her brother had not loved him like Lithuania, he had admitted he was pretty decent as far as German entities go. He had been kind to her, sparing her from any humiliation or ill-treatment after she had fallen to him in 1734 during the War of the Polish Succession.

"You look…fashionable," Saxony said slowly. Adeladja nodded, now aware of how tired and frail she must have looked to him. Saxony was well-known for his ability in medicine. He leaned closer to whisper, "Fraulein, I hope we have time to speak more freely at the reception. I have news about your brother and I am just as concerned as he about how you are doing. You can be as candid as you like with me."

Adeladja's heart leapt at the words _I am just as concerned as he._ So her brother was worried about her! Maybe Russia had forbidden him to write to her and Feliks would guess that she could not tell the truth in her letters to him. And Saxony had news about Poland! She nodded eagerly. "Ja, I should like that very much, Mein Herr."

Saxony seemed about to say something else, when a raucous "Jahahaha!" trumpeted over their heads. Adeladja startled and Saxony looked annoyed as the Kingdom of Bavaria strode over to them, pulling off his white dress gloves and carrying his _Pickelhaube._1His normally messy brown hair was stuck in damp points around his broad face.

"So this is the little bird from Danzig, ja?" He exclaimed. He strutted back and forth, inspecting Adeladja. "Ach, poor little bird, do you like your golden cage? Does the Prussian eagle make you sing for your supper or is he fattening you for his? If so, he's doing a poor job of it, I would say! Jahahahaha!" He threw back his head in laughter, as Saxony glared at him.

"Fraulein Łukasiewicz is here on behalf of her brother Poland in an official capacity, Max," Saxony growled. "She is to be addressed and treated as respectably as any other lady here."

"I meant no harm! I sympathize with the poor child," Bavaria protested. When he looked at Adeladja, pity and mischief danced in his eyes. "Who would want to have that Prussian pig sweating and cackling-"

"Enough!" Saxony loomed over the shorter, barrel-chested kingdom. The female entities stopped twittering and stared in expectant silence. Adeladja wished she could seep into the grass. "You are speaking before women in an unacceptable fashion, Max, and I demand—"

"You two!" A familiar voice rang out. Prussia had ridden up to the two German kingdoms. He was dressed in the black and silver uniform of the First Life Hussars and his gray horse swished its tail as he reined it to a halt. "You will get your coffee and cake soon enough, _ladies_, but now you are expected to head back to the podium to hear some words from the Empire. _Schnell!_" He barked as he circled his horse about Saxony and Bavaria as they grumbled off. "Hannover," he called, "a word with you." A tall handsome blonde woman got up from her seat and walked over to Prussia. He spoke to her, but Adeladja could not make out her words. The tall woman curtseyed and Prussia set off on a canter, herding the male German kingdoms like a swift sheepdog.

The tall blonde female entity stood before Adeladja and offered her hand. "Fraulein Łukasiewicz,"she stumbled over the name. "I am the Province of Hannover, one of Prussia's territories. Mein Herr Prussia has asked me to introduce you to the other personifications." Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were earnest. "Shall we go with the other ladies to the reception?" Adeladja nodded and stood up. She blinked, overtaken with dizziness. Hannover offered her her arm, and the two strolled with other clusters of the female entities off the parade ground.

"May I call you Danzig?" Hannover asked. Adeladja nodded. "_Gut._ I apologize for mispronouncing your name. I have not had much familiarity with your brother or his mortals." Hannover pronounced her standard German very precisely. "What did you think of the review, Fraulein Danzig?"

"It was impressive," Adeladja replied. She thought she would have been grateful to move after sitting so long, but she felt shaky. She noted that Hannover had slowed her stride to accommodate her own uncertain steps. "And you, Fraulein Hannover?"

"I quite enjoyed it! I do love marches and brass bands." When Hannover smiled, dimples appeared in her cheeks and her eyes crinkled. She looked, Adeladja thought, like the twin sister of the German Empire. Hannover looked down at her and whispered, "I was a dragoon once, and I rode in reviews just like this one. They were happy times."

"Why didn't you ride in this one, Fraulein?"

"Herr Prussia doesn't want female entities to participate in the reviews and exercises." Hannover's smile disappeared. "We may dress in a regiment's colors, like I have," she gestured at her well-tailored walking dress of scarlet with white trim, "but he has forbidden us from anything martial."

"And so is it safe to say that you miss that?"

"Ja, I do. When I was in personal union with the United Kingdom, he enjoyed having me in his reviews and parades." Hannover leaned over and whispered, "Arthur Kirkland says the day he saw me in my uniform, he fell in love with me!"

Adeladja squinted, trying to recall what she knew about the various German entities and the United Kingdom. She had been acquainted with England from the agreements they had had during the Hanseatic League, but had lost touch with him after the sixteenth century. Why would a province of Prussia's have anything to do with another nation? "I'm afraid I do not follow, Fraulein Hannover," she admitted.

"Ah, you do not recall I was once an electorate and then a kingdom!" Hannover raised a golden eyebrow. "My royal mortals were called to rule the United Kingdom early in the last century and that was how I met Arthur Kirkland. It was a political match at first, but then he saw me in my regimentals during the Seven Years' War, and he became quite taken with me. We were very happy until recently."

Despite her physical misery, Adeladja was intrigued. "May I ask, Fraulein, what happened?"

To her relief, Hannover was not offended. "1837 happened. Victoria became Queen, but my mortals believed in Salic law, so they would not allow her to rule me as well. The United Kingdom and I separated for political reasons. And then in 1866, after the Austro-Prussian war, Prussia claimed me and I was demoted to a province." Her gaze grew serious, almost bitter, but then she turned to Adeladja and smiled again. "But fortunately, Victoria's daughter is the Crown Princess of Prussia and married to the German Empire's heir, so Herr Kirkland comes to visit occasionally." A mischievous smile appeared on the province's face. "We enjoy reminiscing and catching up on news."

"That is very good for you, Fraulein," Adeladja replied. Her head and feet felt as if they were turning to lead. "May we sit for a bit, Fraulein? I'm not feeling well." She gestured at a bench under some trees.

"Of course, Fraulein Danzig!" The two females sat down. Adeladja sighed, grateful for shade. She studied the tall, proper-looking blonde next to her. So Hannover was in the same position as she, she mused. Once autonomous or allied with a nation she preferred, but now subservient to Prussia. She wondered if she could trust her or if she should regard her as a spy for Prussia. Probably the latter, she decided, even if she seemed rather open and pleasant.

Hannover nodded and exchanged polite greetings with other male and female German entities as they strolled by. Adeladja concentrated on trying to gather her strength. Just as she feared, Hannover gently tapped her shoulder. "Fraulein Danzig, we should get up and get there before all the punch and cake are gone," she said. "We will be able to sit at the reception. It's just a little longer to walk." She stood up and offered her arm.

As Adeladja rose, she suddenly felt a wave of nausea overwhelm her. A curtain of black with dancing spots swept across her eyes and her legs buckled. Hannover caught her and helped her back on the bench. "Fraulein Danzig, what is wrong?" she cried.

"I don't know," Adeladja whispered. Her head felt very heavy and she leaned forward, holding it in her hands as she rested her elbows on her knees. She was afraid she was going to be sick.

"It's this corset, ja? You shouldn't lace so tightly—vanity is not worth your health!" Hannover looked about for other entities. "Maybe we should take you behind some trees and loosen it, ja?"

Adeladja wanted to protest the immodesty of such an action, but she could barely speak for fear of vomiting. Even though the sun had risen higher and she was sweating from the heat, she felt a cold chill rush over her damp skin, making her shiver. Hannover fussed over her, trying to encourage her to move just a little bit, but her legs felt useless, like empty stockings. She just wanted the solicitous province to leave her alone, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"What's going on here?" A male voice asked. Adeladja looked up and strained to focus past the dots to see four men in uniform walking up to her. She recognized Prussia, the German Empire, Bavaria and Saxony.

"Fraulein Danzig is not feeling well, Mein Herr," Hannover replied. "I wanted to loosen her corset so she could breathe better, but I'm not able to move her behind these trees."

"Let me see her." Prussia stood in front of Adeladja. "Adeladja, get up," he said softly yet firmly. "It's only a little more of a walk and then you may sit in the shade and have something to eat and drink." He took her hand and pulled. Adeladja staggered, trying to summon strength into her legs but she lurched forward, almost knocking him down. He cursed in German and tried to prop her up on her legs. She felt dizzy and sank back onto the bench.

Prussia leaned over her. "Adeladja, you're embarrassing me," he hissed. Bavaria's guffaws floated over the still, humid air. "Stop playing and get up!"

"I can't, Mein Herr." Adeladja struggled to force the words out. The effort left her panting heavily. "I'm sorry!"

"If you're so sorry, then try to get up, and lean on me." Prussia tried to pull her up again, but her body seemed to melt into the bench. Pain racked her guts and the spots glittered before her eyes. She slumped forward, trying to keep the world from spinning around her.

"Adeladja, please stop acting like this." Prussia's voice sounded distant, as if floating over the ocean roaring in her head. She felt his hand on her forehead and when he forced her to look at him, she saw his annoyance shift to concern. "I'll get the Empire or Saxony to carry you there, ja?" He whispered. He forced a smile on his face, but she could see anxiety in his ruby-colored eyes. _This is bad, really bad_, she thought.

"Ludwig, Gisil! I need you to take turns carrying Danzig to the reception!" Prussia barked and the two larger blond males approached her. The heat and weight of their bodies seemed to oppress Adeladja even more; she swayed, longing to sprawl out on the ground in private, so whatever was overwhelming her could pass.

Saxony knelt before her, taking her wrist and then opening her eyelids with his other hand. She saw his pale blue eyes gazing into hers as fiercely as an eagle's. She was surrounded by eagles, she thought. "I don't think she needs to go to the reception, _Preußen,"_ he said slowly. The German Empire hovered next to him, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nonsense! She needs some tea or punch and some cake! That'll make her feel better, ja?" Prussia's bravado sounded as shrill as a tin trumpet's. The other entities mumbled advice and concern. _Bóze,_ Adeladja cried inwardly, why can't they all be quiet?2

"Why don't you summon a horse and carry her over there? It'll be faster," Bavaria said.

"She can barely sit on a bench, let alone a horse!" Prussia snapped at him.

"Just sling her across its back, like a sack of your potatoes." Bavaria nibbled at a hangnail as Prussia and Hannover glared at him. "You've done it before. Jahahahaha!"

Adeladja struggled to gaze at the group of German entities quarreling amongst themselves. Only Saxony was quiet, feeling her pulse, studying her with that disturbing look through his spectacles. She wanted to say something to him, to ask what was wrong, what her brother had wanted to tell her, but she could barely breathe, let alone form words. The dots and the heavy weight sinking onto her body overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes and let go. The last things she heard were Hannover's cries of alarm and Prussia shouting her name.

**So all that weariness meant something. The story's picking up steam, readers! Thank you so much for continuing to read and review.**

1 The Pickelhaube were the helmets adopted by the German Empire's army that were close-fitting with the infamous spike on top. I like to think that after Prussia was reunified with Germany in 1990, he was too poor to buy proper Christmas gifts, so one year he made a batch of pickles, found large jars and used surplus Pickelhaubes as lids/pickle spears and gave jars of pickles to everyone at Austria's Christmas Eve. Prussians are known for their thrift and practicality, after all.

2 Polish: God, oh God


	20. Chapter 20 His Panic

**Chapter 20 His Panic**

**Where you learn a little about my headcanon on what happens to entities separated from their homes.**

"Adeladja!" Gilbert cried as the Polish city sprawled on her side on the bench. Hannover knelt besides Saxony, chafing Danzig's wrists, while Saxony unbuttoned her jacket. Bavaria was thankfully silent, while the German Empire stared worriedly at him. _Mein Gott,_ Gilbert thought, _what has happened to her?_

"Don't you have some smelling salts?" He asked Hannover. Monika glared at his sharp tone, and shook her head. "I don't carry them, Mein Herr." She said coolly.

"I thought all females carried those _verdammt_ things," Prussia snapped. He turned from the useless Hannover to Saxony. "Gisil, don't undress her here! We'll take her back to her rooms for that. She'll be upset if she realizes she was exposed out in public."

Saxony turned to face him. When Gilbert saw the serious look in his eyes, he realized that modesty was the last of their concerns. "How long has Fraulein Danzig been away from her region, _Preußen?_" Gisil's voice was low and cold.

Gilbert rapidly calculated. "Almost seven months." Gisil muttered a curse under his breath and stood up. "She has been away too long. No wonder she is so weak." He stared reproachfully at Gilbert. "Why did you keep her from her city for seven months?"

Gilbert's mouth went dry and his heart began to race. _Nein_, he thought_, she can't die now._ "She's Polish," he protested; he hated how high and tight his voice sounded. "Her _verdammt_ brother has survived _years_ without even being a nation. I thought—"

"She is a _city_, _Gilbert_. Even a large one like her can't last as long as a nation away from her place." Saxony looked disgustedly at him and Gilbert fought the urge to punch the larger nation in the face.

"What can we do?" The German Empire asked. Gilbert turned to Ludwig; he could see the younger entity struggling to stay calm.

"We get her back to Danzig immediately or she will be gone before morning," Saxony said. His words seemed to plunge the other entities into a wintry silence under the June sun. Gilbert looked at each of them: Bavaria looked amused, Hannover anxious, Saxony reproachful and the Empire blank.

Finally, Ludwig spoke. "She is your city, Gilbert. What do you want us to do?"

Gilbert looked down at the inert body before him. Danzig looked like an abandoned automaton from the last century, waxen skin and fabric covering a lifeless assembly of cogs, chains and air pumps. He half-expected her to open her eyes and reveal them only to be glass balls attached to a metal bar that made them move at her owner's will. _His_ will, he realized. Thoughts raced through his mind. _Adeladja gone. Bismarck excuses him, claims he ordered it after the fact. Praise. A new entity. A _German_ entity. No more Polish stubbornness. _But then he looked at her again and recalled how her eyes were not glass, but changeable like the sea, alive with intelligence and feeling. He recalled touching her warm skin and how she reacted to his caresses. Her little smiles as she warmed to him. A breeze of longing crossed his heart. He couldn't let her go.

"Pick her up," he ordered Saxony. "You and the Empire will take turns carrying her." The German Empire seemed to relax. "Max," he turned to Bavaria. "Run ahead and have a carriage ready to take us to the train station." To his relief, the kingdom took off back to the _Stadtschlosse_. Gilbert turned to Monika. "You'll come with us."

They marched back to the Stadtschlosse and put Danzig in the carriage. Gilbert insisted that Saxony, the Empire and Hannover come along. He hated to admit it, but he needed Gisil's medical expertise. Ludwig would provide support and muscle, and Monika could do whatever female entities needed done. When they arrived at the train station, Gilbert scanned the tables for the next train to Danzig and cursed.

"The next train won't leave until evening," he muttered. He turned to Saxony, his chest tightening. "Can she last that long?"

Gisil looked balefully at him and Gilbert knew his answer. He cast rapid glances at the other entities, hoping for a solution, but they seemed as helpless as he. Ludwig re-examined the time tables. When he looked back at Gilbert, he seemed hesitant.

"Would Zopot work?1 It's near Danzig and the next train leaves in fifteen minutes. Granted it's not her city, but…"As he trailed off, Gilbert noted with annoyance that his gaze turned to Saxony.

"It could. It's near enough, and it is quiet and right on the sea." Gisil said.

"Then we'll do it!" Gilbert exclaimed. He rushed to the ticket counter and paid for all their fare to the resort town. They carried Danzig onto the train and arranged her in a passenger seat. Gilbert sat next to her and took her hand. It was cold and clammy, like her forehead had been earlier. He felt a faint pulse. _She is not entirely gone for_, he reassured himself. _If we get there, we might be able to bring her back. Saxony will know what to do. Verdammt Saxony._ He stole a glance at the large blond male next to him. Saxony was adjusting his spectacles, softly telling an attentive Ludwig what caused entities to fade, and how age, size and population affected their abilities to withstand time away from their places of origin. For a second, he felt jealous and wished Saxony were gone and Ludwig were staring earnestly at him as he held forth on what had happened. But then he remembered that Gisil knew more than he did and that he needed his knowledge if they were to revive Danzig.

The train chuffed out of the station, gathering speed and noise as it headed towards its destination. It couldn't go fast enough for Gilbert; he tried willing it to go faster, just as he tried to will Danzig to hold on to existence. _Please don't leave_, he begged her. He imagined her looking at him with her serious, guarded blue-gray eyes. _Not now, not when things were going so well between us. You are my city, moja kochanie. Does that make you feel better? Now will you stay?_ He could picture her smiling tentatively. _Tak, kochanie. Stay and I will be kind to you. You'll be happy that you are mine. You'll forget all about Poland and you will be safe and contented in my arms. _ He blinked and dodged his head so none of the other entities would see his tears fall.

The train pulled into the little station at Zopot. As the mortals around them got up, they chattered excitedly about their plans. A holiday mood settled around them, but Gilbert still felt his heart clench in fear. His head pounded and he longed for a cigar or beer, or better yet, for Danzig to open her eyes and state that she was already feeling better. They carried off her off the station and Gilbert was about to ask a porter to get them a carriage to the best hotel, when Saxony held him back.

"_Wat_?" Gilbert snapped. He was impatient to get Danzig somewhere safe. Gisil looked offended but then hid behind his glasses.

"We should take her to the beach first," he said. He turned to the Empire. "Mein Herr, once we get her there, will you then head to the Hotel Zopot and arrange a room for Danzig? Get one for at least two weeks."

"And get me a room also. And while we're at it, ask them to get the best nurse they know of." Gilbert shoved a coin purse full of marks towards the younger entity. "That should cover most of it." Ludwig pocketed the money and helped Saxony carry the unconscious city along the pier. Mortals stared at the group in military uniforms, but Gilbert glared back, forcing them out of their way with his gaze. He cared nothing for what they thought; he just wanted to get Danzig down to the sand and water.

The sun was high in the sky, a blazing ball of white light. Seagulls hovered over the waves or dashed at unsuspecting mortals eating picnic lunches. As Saxony placed Danzig down on the damp sand, Gilbert looked about expectantly. What were they going to do with her _here?_

"We need to get her down to her shift," Saxony said. Hannover gasped and the German Empire blushed. "She needs as much direct contact with the sand and water as possible. Hurry!" Hannover bent down to undo the fastenings of Danzig's dress, while Gilbert kept watch for curious mortals. Ludwig decided to trot up the pier to the hotel to make arrangements, while Saxony watched Monika's progress with the objective eyes of a doctor.

When they were done, Saxony pulled out his handkerchief and gestured for Gilbert and Monika to do the same. "Soak these in the waves and apply them to her face and body," he commanded. "When they start to dry, wet them again." As Gilbert crept over to the waves, he grimaced at them as they lapped at his polished Hessian boots. He hated the ocean ever since Poland had commanded him to learn to swim; he had made him jump off a boat in the Bay of Danzig and urged him to swim back. He remembered the sudden cold, the mouthful of salty water that burned his tongue and nasal passages, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness as Feliks shouted more in annoyance than encouragement. But here he was, wringing a sopping handkerchief full of the stuff in order to bring Danzig back to life. He applied his to Danzig's chest as Monika draped hers and Saxony's on her brow and feet. In her shift, Danzig looked more frail than he had expected. Gilbert could see the blue veins tracing along her arms and chest and he felt angry at himself for not noticing earlier. All this time, he had called her dainty and fine-boned, he thought, when she was really wasting away.

Her stillness unnerved him. When Hannover obediently covered Danzig's face with her freshly wet handkerchief, he snapped, "Just do her brow. She's not a corpse."He didn't like them hiding her face like one does a dead mortal's. He recalled what happened the moment he had realized that Old Fritz was gone, and how the doctors had solemnly covered the king's wrinkled face, while he had stared, barely comprehending what had occurred. His favorite king, the only mortal who had touched him so affectionately, would never touch him again. He felt his chest begin to tighten and crack, just as it had that day, and he tried to push the thought away. Danzig was not going to fade away, he resolved.

Gilbert turned to Saxony, irritated at the kingdom's heavy, silent bulk. "How long does this take?" He demanded. Gisil turned to face him, with the annoyed patience a parent has for a whining child.

"A while. She has been away from her region for _seven months_." The words landed like a slap on Gilbert's cheek. His anger flared up and he stalked forward, but Hannover placed a hand on his knee. "Mein Herr, go wet this handkerchief for her," she said calmly, and Gilbert busied himself with the cloth and waves, trying to channel his resentment into reviving Danzig.

Ludwig returned. "The hotel has two rooms that will be ready in thirty minutes," he said. "And they have sent a boy to fetch a woman they call the best nurse and lady's maid in Zopot." He looked down at Danzig and then back to Saxony, much to Gilbert's annoyance. "What do we do next, Herr?"

"This," Saxony replied. "For another hour. Get your handkerchief and do what the others are doing." He took out his pocket watch and studied it as the other entities ran back and forth with handkerchiefs.

Time seemed to have stopped on the beach. The sun still burned, mortals still swam, picnicked or strolled, craning their heads to look at the curious group. Gilbert shot them warning glances, so they wouldn't stop or ask questions. Seagulls cried, those eerie harsh sounds, as the waves lapped at the sand. Danzig still lay as silent and inert as a doll. She looked like one, Gilbert thought with remorse, a wax doll that would melt into the sand, if Saxony were not directing them.

Finally, Gisil snapped his watch shut. At the sound, Gilbert looked up at Hannover and the Empire. Their faces were red; beads of sweat dripped from Ludwig's brow, and Monika's hair was coming loose from her crown of braids. He wiped his forehead and noted how hot and tender his skin was. _Mein Gott_, he was burning up as the black wool uniform absorbed the sun's rays. He was about to take off his tunic, when Saxony announced it was time to carry Danzig back to the hotel. They struggled through the heavy, resistant sand with their burden to the pier, into the lobby and up to the room that was waiting for her.

The German Empire carefully placed Danzig down on the freshly made bed, and Saxony opened the windows. "She needs the air and ocean breeze at all times," he said. "Even at night." He turned to Gilbert. "Make them draw ocean water for a warm bath for her daily. She needs to soak in it for an hour. Then she needs to lie in the sand with as little clothing as allowed, at least one hour at time, twice daily. You may need to hire someone to help carry her or rent a chair." Gilbert nodded dumbly. His anger and resentment towards Gisil disappeared under his instructions. Danzig would need to have broth (made only from fish from the Baltic) spooned into her throughout the day. When she regained consciousness, she needed locally grown vegetables, fish and poultry. "_Nothing_ from another region, no matter how much they say it is a delicacy and treat," Saxony insisted. "When she gets a little stronger, give her some _Danziger Goldwasser—"_

"_Mein Gott, _I hate that stuff," Gilbert blurted and then he shut his mouth under Gisil's disapproving stare. Of course, he thought, this was not about his likes and dislikes; it was about what would revive Danzig's strength. He drew out his memorandum book and took down notes.

When the mortal nurse arrived, Saxony took her outside to repeat his instructions. Gilbert couldn't resist smirking when he heard the woman gasp and protest the prescribed treatment; he knew it sounded counter to what a mortal doctor would advise, but obviously personifications needed different treatment. He turned to Ludwig and said as cheerfully as he could, "She'll be all right now. You were a great help, Ludi, but you need to get back and be the Empire!"

When Ludwig didn't smile in return, Gilbert felt nervous. Of course, he thought, Ludwig was still learning to be not only a personification, but a great Empire at that. He softened his tone. "You can do it, Ludi. Bismarck is at his estate now, but he'll send you letters every day, and anything you are unsure about, you can forward to me. In fact, you can just tell him to write to me, and—"

"Why didn't you know about this?" The German Empire said. His voice and demeanor were serious, but Gilbert could sense his nervousness. "Why didn't you know this could happen and how to cure, or even prevent it?"

Gilbert couldn't answer. For a second, he assumed Ludwig was worried, but then he looked into his younger brother's face and he grew more uncertain. The German Empire wasn't asking this as if he were a boy upset about a pet dog's illness; he was quietly, gravely _demanding_, as if Gilbert were a subordinate officer who had just misunderstood orders at a key point in battle. He didn't like how the light blue eyes reminded him of the Crown Prince's.

He gathered his thoughts and indignation. "I've never seen this before," he huffed. "I've seen wounded entities and tended to them, but never _this._ How was I supposed to know this was happening?"

"You spent every day with her, every evening, ja?" The Empire still studied him carefully. "Surely you must have seen changes in her over all that time."

Gilbert felt as if Ludwig's stare was backing him against the small room's wall. He noticed Hannover watching them, and he pursed his lips. "She seemed fine," he snapped. "A little tired, but _fine_. Besides, how do you think _I _feel now? She is my city, _Bruderchen."_

Ludwig flinched slightly at the diminutive. "You forget, _Bruderherz_, that you are one of my kingdoms and if she is your city, than she is also mine."

Gilbert stiffened. _She is not yours_, he wanted to shout, _she has been, is, and will be mine._ He glowered at the younger entity. "She is _indirectly_ yours," he said sharply. "But I am directly responsible for her." Ludwig silently stared back. "I made a mistake in judgment," Gilbert grumbled. "But now I am paying for it, ja? I have to live with this. Don't you see how_ I_ feel about that?" He fought back the plea in his voice.

"Well, Saxony has given you instructions and you know now what to do to revive her." Monika spoke up from Danzig's bedside, where she was combing out the entity's sea-soaked hair. Gilbert snapped his neck to face her. He wanted to tell her to keep out of the discussion, but he realized that he would need her to help tend Danzig for a few days. "Ja, I know what to do now," he said coldly. He turned to Ludwig. "And you have other kingdoms, states and cities to worry about, _Bruderchen._ Remember, you can write me here if you need advice. And when you get to Berlin, have the trunks packed for us for Potsdam sent up here, ja?" He noted with an ugly satisfaction how the Empire reluctantly nodded his head and stepped out of the room. _Gut_, he thought, he knows his place now.

Saxony returned with the nurse, a portly matron with a confused, skeptical expression on her round face. "Frau Becker understands her instructions, even though she and I have had a spirited discussion about them." He raised a knowing eyebrow at Gilbert and Hannover. "But she has agreed to be as helpful as she can."

Gilbert nodded curtly at her. Frau Becker walked past him and inspected Danzig. "So," she said slowly, "we are to order a salt water bath for Frau….?" She looked expectantly at the group of entities.

"Bielschmidt," Gilbert interjected. Hannover and Saxony looked stunned, even as they kept silent. "Frau Bielschmidt," Gilbert repeated, shooting each of them a warning look. He didn't want Danzig to receive less than the best treatment because of a dubious reputation. "Ja," he started to feel his confidence return as he turned to the mortal. "The water should be warmed also, so the sooner we order it, the soon they can heat it. Go on, Frau," he commanded, "summon the stewards with the bath and tell them to start fetching and boiling!"

**So what do you think of Gilbert's interactions with the other entities? Or his declaration at the end? By the way, 82 reviews-Wow! Thank you! Not bad for a story with an OC, an uncommon pairing, and no yaoi, lol. You guys are awesome, and I hope you continue to read and review.**

1 Zopot (Polish: Sopot) is a seaside town about 13 km or 8 miles from Gdansk. It was famous as a resort town in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and is still a popular destination for vacationers today.


	21. Chapter 21 Her Return

**Chapter 21 Her Return**

First there was darkness. Then a breeze caressed her, whispering of salt. Then she heard gulls crying faintly over a fainter sea. Adeladja basked in the scent and sound; she could imagine herself in a boat on the Bay of Danzig, rocking gently as the wood creaked and lines whistled in the breeze. The sails were filling, ushered along by the wind. She was moving somewhere, parting the waters, gliding easily. Someone handled the wheel, guiding them safely to a harbor, sure of the navigator's art. She didn't have to worry; all she needed to do was rest and put herself in their hands.

Sometimes she felt something warm press against her body, warm air tickling her ear and neck. She was grateful for the protection against the chill, the firm bulwark against the night air. She imagined someone whispering to her in a language she barely recalled, telling her it was all right and she was safe. So warm and comforting, she thought. They would trust the navigator to bring her home to her port, to tether the boat securely to its dock, and let the waves lap its sides as she slept. The fears and anxieties of the past few months were gone, sunk beneath the currents, while she rocked on top, as secure as a baby in its cradle.

She felt warmth slide across her body and her closed eyes tingled with the light. She dreaded opening them; what if her dreams were false and she were back in the Stadtschlosse? She wanted desperately to imagine she was anywhere but that uncomfortable palace, with its dark rooms and stifling air. Here, air moved, caressed her, and sang of the sea. The sea she missed so much.

Adeladja finally opened her eyes. She was in a simple iron bed with white sheets. Next to her an open window let the breeze in and sent the curtains dancing. The walls were papered with stripes and bouquets, and dark wood furniture hugged them. She inhaled deeply; the sea scent in the air was unmistakable. A gull's melancholy cry pierced the room, and she smiled. She was on the Baltic coast, she realized, and even though it was not her room in her house at Long Street, it was closer than Berlin.

She heard papers rustle and moved her head in their direction. She saw a young man in shirtsleeves at a table, writing. The white-blond hair drifting over his forehead made her catch her breath. She felt a mix of wonder and disappointment at the image of Prussia.

He looked up and before she could close her eyes and feign sleep, he darted over to the bedside. "Adeladja," he said. "Adeladja! _Mein Gott_, you're awake. _Nein, Liebling_, don't worry!" He grasped her hands, and she felt the strength and warmth in them. "Ach, _Liebling,_ at last. What a relief." She looked up at him and saw his guileless smile, his eyes burgundy with affection.

"Where am I?" Her voice sounded strange to her, rusty from disuse. Prussia brushed her limp hair from her forehead, still smiling. She had seen him look tenderly at her before, but never this openly.

"Zopot, _Geliebte._1 Just a short way from your city." He caressed her face and his hands were so gentle, she felt tears begin in her eyes.

"You said you would bring me back after the review. And you did. Somewhat," she whispered.

Prussia laughed, a little too gaily, she thought. But his touch was so tender and his smile so infectious, she let it go.

"Ja, you chose an expensive time to need a spa visit!" He tried to sound casual, but his broad grin gave his relief away. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, cheeks and lips. "You are back, _kochanie," _he whispered in Polish, "and that's the important thing. My dear girl is back from the grave, like Lazarus."

When he sat on the bed next to her, she couldn't bring herself to shrink away. First, she was unsure of her strength, like a newborn foal, and second, it seemed rude after his obvious relief and joy. "How did I get here?" she asked.

"I brought you here, of course! The German Empire, Saxony and Hannover came with me to help and make sure you would be taken care of." He grew serious as he stroked her cheek. "Do you remember losing consciousness after the review? That's when I knew something was wrong and we needed to get you back to the coast as soon as we could."

"And you did," she said, more to herself than him. She gazed at the wallpaper and then out the window. Bright blue sky arced over the green-blue waves that met the sand at a distance. She could make out gulls flying on the horizon. She turned to face him and smiled. "Danke, Mein Herr."

"It was nothing!" He said, trying to look at ease, but she thought he looked more like a schoolboy blushing under praise. "I've saved lives in battle before."

"Mortal lives. Have you ever saved an entity?" Adeladja asked. She reflected on the significance of what he had done and she felt something unlock within herself. "You saved my life," she said slowly. "Why, Mein Herr?"

"Ach, Adeladja, why do you think? Has your sleep addled your brain?" Prussia's sunburnt face flushed deeper. He bent over and kissed her forehead. "_Kochanie_," he whispered, "haven't I told you enough of my secrets? You're a smart girl; what do you think?"

She thought she was too tired to second-guess. Instead she lifted her hand and placed it over his. She stroked it, feeling the tendons and bone under the thin, scarred skin. She still felt weak, but it felt differently than when she had been in Berlin. There, she had felt herself seeping away, but here, it felt hopeful, like a newborn creature slowly gathering its strength. She looked up at Prussia and noted how eagerly he looked at her.

"What can I get you, _Liebling?"_ He sprang up and went to a bell rope on the wall behind the bed. "Some broth? Some spirits? Maybe something more solid? They have good rolls here, made from local rye. Would you be up to that?"

"Rolls and broth sound nice," she replied. He rang the bell and when someone knocked at the door, he answered it and put in the order, along with some tea and coffee. He sat back down on the bed, still gazing at her. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked.

"Two weeks. Can you believe it?" His laughter sounded almost hysterical. "For two weeks, a nurse, Hannover, and I watched over you and put you in ocean-water baths and laid you out on the sand every day. The nurse, a mortal set in her ways, swore you'd never recover, but _I_ knew better! 'All she needs is contact with her land and water' I said, and look, it did the trick."

"Where is Hannover?" The impropriety of being alone in a bedroom with a male struck Adeladja. True, they had been in his bedroom before, but she had been conscious. What had happened during her dreams, she wondered.

"She is out, taking a walk and respite from watching you. Don't worry, Adeladja," Prussia cooed, patting her thigh. "Hannover slept here on a field bed they found, and I had my own room. We did everything properly. Not a breath of scandal, ja?" The maid knocked and he fetched the bed tray with a bowl of broth, rolls, butter and a tea and coffee service. He placed it over her lap. "Eat up, _kochanie_," he murmured, offering a spoonful. "Now you can actually enjoy it!"

Adeladja took the spoon and fed herself. There was the briny taste of ocean fish and the delicate seasonings of carrots, garlic, and onion. It tasted familiar, like something she had had in her long dream. Maybe, she thought, this was how they had kept her from starving. She dipped a roll in the broth, heedless of etiquette, and took a bite. The chewy rye roll was delicious, hearty and flavored with the fish broth. Prussia sipped coffee, watching her like a doting _babcia_.2 It felt strange, she thought, to see him so caring and solicitous after he had been so rough with her at first. But here he was, encouraging her every sip and bite, dabbing at her chin with a napkin. She would have laughed at him, if she didn't owe him her existence.

A knock at the door and some German mutterings interrupted them. . The province of Hannover walked in and when she saw them, she brightened. "_Gott Sei Dank_!" She exclaimed, rushing over to the bed and kissing Adeladja's cheeks. "You are awake! Ach, Fraulein Danzig, what a relief! I should run to the telegraph office and wire—"

"The German Empire?" Prussia stopped her. He turned to Adeladja and smiled. Something about his grin felt harder and more forced than his earlier expression. "He has been worried about you, you know. He said that even though you were my city, I was his kingdom and thus you were his. Indirectly." He beamed at her as Hannover looked uncomfortable. Adeladja wondered why, but then decided feeding her strength with broth and rolls was more important instead. Prussia tended to her, buttering bits of bread and offering her some tea. Hannover went back to the chest of drawers and made herself busy.

"I guess we should tell the nurse, ja?" She said over her shoulder. "I'm sure she'll be amazed but delighted to hear that –"

"That her duties are over and she will be rewarded handsomely for her good care of Adeladja? Of course! You should stay a few more days, Monika, until Danzig is stronger and the chamber maids can dress and care for her. I'm sure you want to return to your city." Prussia got up and drew the female entity over to a corner. Adeladja couldn't hear their whispers, but she could see that Prussia kept interrupting Hannover and she looked displeased. _What is this about? _ She wondered.

"Ja, I will tell her the good news, Mein Herr," Hannover finally said loudly enough for Adeladja to hear. "And then I will go to the telegraph office and wire the Empire. He will be relieved." As she collected her gloves and reticule, she turned to face Adeladja and smiled earnestly at her. "I am glad you are awake again, Fraulein Danzig."

"Danke, Fraulein Hannover," Adeladja called after the province as she closed the door behind her. She turned to Prussia. "Who else knows about what happened to me?" she asked.

"Saxony and Bavaria were there when you passed out, so I'm sure that every other German personification knows the story." Prussia shrugged and helped himself to a roll.

"Do you think Saxony told my brother?" Adeladja wondered if Poland had heard the news and if that had been enough to let Russia allow him to write. "Or my sister?"

When Prussia looked at her, he grew solemn. "I wired Vienna and Warsaw as soon as I could, _kochanie_," he said. He looked back down at the roll. "I haven't received a letter or wire from either of them." Adeladja put her spoon down; she couldn't believe that neither Feliks nor Elena would have managed to send a letter asking for details of her condition. Two weeks, she thought, that was enough time for a letter to come to Zopot.

"I'm sorry, Adeladja." Prussia placed a hand on her leg again and she twitched. "Maybe Ivan or Roderich didn't tell them so they wouldn't grow alarmed. After all, it's not like Russia is going to let Feliks come back here to see you, ja?"

"But Austria and Hungary would let Elena come," she said softly. Suddenly the soup seemed too salty and the rolls too hard to chew. Even the tea was too bitter and cold to sip. "Why wouldn't they let her come?"

"I don't know, _kochanie_, I don't know." Prussia kept staring at the tray. Then he grinned at her and took the tray over to the writing table. "But we will send them good news now! And they'll be happy to hear that you are back near your home, growing stronger again. Even your brother will admit I've done a good job reviving you." He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "You can write them tomorrow, and we'll even try getting you out of bed and seeing if you are up for a walk along the pier. You'd like that, ja?"

"Ja," Adeladja muttered. Something is off, she thought. She didn't think even Russia would refuse Poland the privilege of writing a letter to her if she were seriously ill. And the idea that Austria and Hungary would not let Krakow come to Zopot to help tend to her seemed out of character for them. Even a letter from Elena would be enough. Suddenly Prussia's caresses seemed unbearable to her. "I need to sleep," she yawned, and to her dismay, Prussia eagerly nodded and tucked the bedclothes around her.

"Of course, my sweet city, of course. I'll get dinner and Hannover will be back to check on you."

When Adeladja woke up, it was dark. She looked for Hannover's sleeping form on the field cot Prussia had mentioned, but she couldn't make out either in the room. The open window let in the ocean's night breeze. For a second, she imagined sneaking out and making her way to Danzig. But then the idea of walking along the roads in her cotton lawn nightgown, just as she was regaining her strength seemed ridiculous. In the meantime, she would pay careful attention to everything said and unsaid around her.

Over the next few days, Adeladja grew strong enough to stand up, get dressed, and go for short walks along the pier. The ocean view and air, along with solid foods, revived her. Prussia never left her alone with either Hannover or the solid mortal nurse, Frau Becker. He hovered over them, interrupting them with questions and directions about her treatment. Every day, they escorted her to the ladies' bath house in Zopot, where she soaked in a tub of ocean water and mused over the view of the beach. She watched mortals bathe and frisk in mixed groups, and a longing for past swimming excursions with her sister and other mortal women seized her. Soon, she thought, she would be strong enough to brave the waves, laugh and play in the ocean. She knew Hannover had a coast and she wondered if the female entity would join her. Then the two could talk and she could find out why she seemed so frustrated every time Prussia cut her off.

But in a few days, Hannover was packing her trunk and getting ready for the carriage that would take her to the train station. Adeladja and Prussia sat with her on the hotel porch, waiting for the coach to arrive. "Danke for caring for me, Fraulein Hannover," Adeladja said as she kissed the startled entity's cheeks before she embarked on her journey. "It was very kind of you to do so. I hope that you will have an opportunity to visit again with the United Kingdom soon."

"Danke, Fraulein Danzig. And ja, he is coming to Potsdam later in the summer, to see the Crown Princess and her children. When you return, maybe you could pay her a visit with us." Hannover smiled cautiously at Adeladja, darting a glance in Prussia's direction. He looked impatient for her to be gone. When the coachmen whipped up the horses and clattered off, he sighed and grinned at Adeladja. "Monika can be so very _English_ at times. It gets tiring, ja?" He winked at her and Adeladja felt her old anxiety flutter within her chest for the first time in weeks.

But his behavior was impeccable. He kept to his room at night, checked in only after she had been dressed, and never did more than kiss her lightly on the hand or cheek. They strolled arm in arm along the pier, dined at the hotel or other restaurants in the resort town, and he made sure that she ate only the freshest fish and local produce. At night, they attended concerts or lectures at the concert house. Each day, Adeladja felt her appetite return and she could walk a little farther and faster. Soon, she realized, she would feel almost as strong as she had just before she had left for Berlin last October. And then, she thought, Prussia would want to resume their evening sessions again. She felt torn; she could remember how he had stirred up desire within her, but she knew that he would want to go farther, to the last act in their play. He wasn't being so caring because he was a generous, selfless nation, she told herself, but because he wanted to possess her.

He already did possess her, she realized one afternoon as she soaked in the tub at the bathhouse. Worse, she owed him. He could have let her fade away, but he had brought her back from the brink of oblivion. She would have to pay the price he expected, she thought, shrinking further into the tub. Maybe it wouldn't be that be that bad physically, but her heart rebelled at becoming his. She was Poland's sister, she reminded herself, and to sleep with her brother's enemy felt like an act of betrayal, no matter how pleasurable it promised to be.

She tried not to lean on Prussia's arm during their walks, and she muted her delight in the concerts and food he presented to her. She smiled politely at his jokes and small talk, but tried to keep herself from engaging too much with him. She felt bad about her coldness after he had done so much for her, but she didn't want him to think she could forget his harshness towards her and her brother so easily. Sometimes she even feigned weariness or headaches so he would not think she was strong enough for play. She walked a fine line between gratitude and indifference in order to hold off the inevitable.

Prussia made light of their circumstances. She could sometimes see the hurt or frustration flit across his face when she kept her answers short or edged away from his eager hands. He would even bite his lip and grow silent when she didn't respond the way a sweetheart should. He let her write letters to Krakow and Poland, and every afternoon, he made a great show of going through the mail he received. There was always a letter from Bismarck or the German Empire, with occasional ones from the Kaiser himself or other nations, such as Spain or the United Kingdom. But each night, he would sigh, "Nothing from Vienna, Warsaw, or Moscow, _Liebling." _He would gaze apologetically at her. "Maybe tomorrow, ja?" He would add and she would whisper, "Ja, maybe tomorrow."

Two weeks after she had woken up, they went through the same ritual. This time, she could no longer disguise her hurt. When he looked at her and said, "Maybe tomorrow, ja?" she could barely nod before the tears came to her eyes.

"Adeladja, please don't cry," Prussia said. He put his arm around her and drew her to him. _"Mein armes Mädchen._3_"_He whispered. "It's been at least four weeks. You'd think…." He trailed off.

"I don't know why they don't write," she whimpered.

He rocked her as if she were a child. "Neither do I, _Liebling, _neither do I." He rubbed her back and planted little kisses on her hair and forehead. "Such a loving girl, such a dutiful sister." She nestled against him. He was warm and strong, and he smelled like hops, lemon and tobacco. "You have me and the other Germans," he whispered. "We've had so much fun these past two weeks with our seaside strolls and concerts. Monika and Gisil like you, Ludwig likes you. _I _like you."

"Do you?" She turned to look up at him as she wiped her eyes. "Do you like me?"

"_Adeladja._ Do you have potatoes in your ears?" Prussia smiled down at her, his eyes the soft burgundy shade that always calmed her. He squeezed her. "Didn't you hear me?"

She nodded, He kissed her cheeks, tasting her tears. Then he stood up, holding his hand out to her. "I have an idea," he whispered. "How about I take you for a swim?"

**So what do you think of Danzig's reawakening and her attitude towards Prussia? How about Prussia's behavior? We're going to spend some time at the beach-isn't that nice? Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!**

1 German: Beloved, lover

2 Polish: grandmother

3 German: My poor girl


	22. Chapter 22 His Joy

**Chapter 22 His Joy**

**A chapter from Gilbert's point of view. And an allusion to a scene in "The Cuckoo Bird" (I haven't forgotten that story; don't worry!). Let's see who remembers it-there's a prize to the first who does!**

Gilbert had no desire to swim in the ocean, but he knew that Danzig enjoyed it. They went to the ladies' bathhouse with her bathing costume packed in a straw suitcase. He decided to stay on the pier, while she changed and used the bathing machine to take her out past the rough, crashing waves. Even though he wore a straw boater and linen suit, he still sweated and needed to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun.

He watched Danzig emerge from the machine and glide into the water's gently swelling waves. He waved at her and smiled when she waved back. Her hair was gathered in a kerchief and tendrils flew about the silly bow on top of her head. She rolled through the ocean, turning as supplely as a seal. Gilbert admired her ease and joy in the sea; he liked lakes, but he still couldn't get the bad, salty taste of Poland's "swimming lesson" out of his mouth.

How easy she made it look, he thought, envy touching his heart. She sometimes floated on top of the water, and he could see the wet bathing costume cling to her body. He sucked in his breath, taken with how the wet cloth barely concealed her curves. Taking her to Zopot had done wonders for her, he thought, as he eyed her breasts and hips. Suddenly he wished he could dive into the water and join her; he imagined his arms around her as they bobbed among the waves, whispering nonsense about her being a mermaid and hearing her laughter. He longed to feel his fingers slide along her wet skin, to touch her secret parts under the water's dark surface and see mischief and delight dance in her eyes. Surely she wouldn't mind, he thought, no one would see what his hands were doing!

A male mortal jostled him out of his reverie. "That's why we're supposed to bathe on the other side of the pier, ja?" He leered companionably. Gilbert looked down his nose at him. "I'm watching _meine Frau_," he said coldly. The mortal was about to say something, reconsidered, and walked off.

After awhile, even Danzig tired of the ocean and withdrew back to the bathing machine. As the shack-like structure retreated back to the bath house, Gilbert checked his watch. She would need to wash off the salt water, change and dry her hair. He had enough time for a beer in the shade and then he would fetch her.

After his break, Gilbert went to the ladies' bath house and asked if Frau Bielschmidt was dressed and ready to leave. A female attendant said that she was still drying her hair. He asked her to bring him to where she was. The mortal hesitated; she timidly reminded him that this was the _ladies'_ bath house. Gilbert smiled and pressed some coins in her hand as he reminded her that he was Herr Bielschmidt and he just wanted to chat with his bride as her hair dried. The mortal blushed and dimpled, and led him to the terrace where Adeladja sat dressed, a towel draped on her back and her hair in wet tendrils.

When she saw him, with the open-crowned hat framing her pale face like a halo, he paused. She looked startled, even a little embarrassed. He thought about what might please her and strolled over.

"May I?" He looked at the comb the attendant held. She offered it to him and curtseyed as she retreated. He pulled a chair over and sat down next to Adeladja. She studied her hands in her lap, but he could see her darting glances at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Did you enjoy your swim?" He asked as gently as he could. She nodded, her eyes brightening a little. "I'm not much for the ocean," he admitted, "what do you like about it?"

"What is there _not _ to like about it?" She said, and she told him everything. She loved the scent, the colors and pull of the waves as they crashed and retreated on the shore, the constant rhythmic purr. She loved the bounty of the ocean: not just the amber, but also the fish and the goods it brought on ships from all over the world. She didn't even mind that it could shift from amusing friend to destructive foe; "It's alive," she said, "even more than a river, I would say. It's just bigger and grander and wilder."

Gilbert had thought he would get her to talking so he could distract her as he carried on his own plans, but he found himself listening to her. He had heard only three other entities, Spain, Great Britain and Denmark, go on about the ocean in the same way, and yet he still had not understood it. But seeing Danzig's eyes glow and her hands gesture, and above all, hearing her voice rise and fall as she described it to him, made him realize how much the sea meant to her. He still didn't like it, but he saw her own happiness and enthusiasm, and it made her even lovelier to him.

Then she turned to him, and her embarassed expression returned. "I must sound like a fool to you, _Mein Herr_," she said, and he wanted to tell her of course she didn't, she sounded more alive than she had in days, and he wanted to hear it all over again, just so he could see her face come back to life.

"Nein, Adeladja," he said, taking a section of her hair. He felt her flinch as he began gently to work the comb through her hair from the ends up. For one moment, he wanted to tell her to stop being so afraid of him, but he bit his tongue and carefully worked his way upwards. "I had a bad experience with the sea, so I wonder why other personifications and mortals like it so much." He briefly told her about the dreadful swimming lesson from her brother, and was pleased to see surprise, indignation, and compassion cross her face. _Gut,_ he thought to himself, the more she knew about Poland's flaws, the better. He was, after all, telling the truth-in this matter, at least. And if he had to lie about telegrams and letters he never sent, or letters he received and hid, so be it. It would only help Danzig come to see that it was in her best interest to turn to him for support and affection. The more she became his, the more he would reward her.

He smiled as he gently ran the comb through her now smooth hair and noted her look of approval as he finished that section and began on another. He could feel her relax as he combed. Even though he knew about what goods came into her port, he asked her for details; she told him of the spices that came from East and West, the silks and cottons, the variety of wines and jewels and plants. He listened, engrossed by the cadences of her voice, the range of facial expressions, her pride and happiness.

Finally, she paused. "You are very good at combing hair, Mein Herr. How did that happen?"

He shrugged and smiled. "When I was the Teutonic Order and I found my sister Maria, the Grand Master said I could keep her if I took care of her until we had a city ready for her. So I did. I had already learned the right way to groom a horse, so I combed out her hair to keep it from getting tangled and knotted. She never complained."

"I could see that a horse would be good at teaching one not to yanking through tangles," Danzig said, and they laughed knowingly together. Gilbert continued, "Anyway, I liked taking care of her. And then Marienburg was built, an order of nuns moved in, and they took Maria from me." He paused, studying how Danzig's hair turned from the color of wet wood to varied amber as it dried. He felt an impulse to kiss it, but restrained himself. "They cut off all her hair since she was a novice and they were grooming her for the order. I hated them for that."

"I can understand," she replied. "Hair is a woman's crowning glory and I remember your sister's was lovely."

"Ja, she did." Gilbert began combing through another section. "I was glad when she left the convent and became a Lutheran. She grew her hair out again." He stopped and shifted his seat so he faced Danzig. "I want to show you something," he said. He took out his watch chain and showed her a charm that dangled near the watch. "Look," he said.

Danzig studied the charm, a ball formed of out of a silvery braid. "It's hair. Maria's?" She looked up at him, intrigued.

"Ja," he admitted. He pursed his lips; this was hard to admit. "Friedrich Groß and his father didn't like her, so she spent almost the whole eighteenth century in Königsberg. It was only when Friedrich's nephew came to the throne that she could return to Berlin and Potsdam and I could see her once more. She gave this to me as a gift, a way to remember her if something ever separated us again." He wondered how much she knew about Jena and its aftermath.

"And she's back in Königsberg?" she asked. He nodded. "Is she going to come to Berlin anytime soon?"

"Nein, she doesn't like it there." Gilbert cleared his throat. "I'll go visit her in Königsberg at least once a year. Usually about a week and then we'll quarrel and she'll chase me out." He smiled wryly.

"But you write to her, ja?"

"Ja, but she's not the best correspondent." She didn't need to know that Maria didn't answer his occasional letters unless she needed something or had taken offense at some line he had written.

Adeladja turned the charm over in her long, smooth fingers. _You're not the only one who loves your family_, Gilbert thought. When she handed it back to him, he saw her eyes had softened to a dark blue. "Yet you miss her," she murmured.

He replied, "Of course, she's my sister."

She studied him for a long time, until he grew uncomfortable. "Then you understand, Mein Herr," she said softly, "what it is like to miss a family member, and long to write to them, even if they don't answer." Her gaze grew more resolute. "You know what it is like to hope something you write will move them to reply. And you hold on to that hope, even as everything argues against it."

Gilbert's stomach fluttered. _She knows_, he panicked. But then he forced his mind to slow down. Nein, she just stated that she would never give up on hearing from her siblings, he told himself. Allowing her an occasional letter from the ones he received from Krakow or Warsaw wouldn't hurt, he thought. It might even prevent her from growing suspicious.

"Ja," he said, "I know that feeling." He grew more confident. "But I also know that I shouldn't expect anything much. I've turned to others, like the Empire, for better treatment." He looked significantly at her.

Danzig raised one fine dark brow. "It's strange," she mused, keeping her eyes on him, "that even Krakow doesn't write. Unlike my brother, she has masters who are easygoing and understanding. And Elena has always been a good correspondent during the past, even during 1848, when our letters were obviously read and censored."

Gilbert's mouth grew dry again. _Mein Gott, she _does _know. _"As I keep saying, Adeladja, I don't know why your siblings don't write or their letters don't reach me. Ivan probably keeps a tight rein on Feliks, and you can't blame him. But Elena," he shrugged and tried to look sympathetic and confused. "She has things easier. Maybe Roderich doesn't want her corresponding with you, maybe she is too busy gallivanting all over the Empire with Hungary and that Empress of theirs. I really don't know."

"Maybe you could find out?" Danzig's eyes were gray and unreadable again, like the sea on an overcast day. He hated when she looked at him like that; he could feel her gliding away from him, even as he sat so close to her.

"Ja, I could," he said slowly. Then he tried to smile reassuringly at her, hoping the smile reached his eyes. "In fact, I shall write that _verdammt Österreich_ when we return to the hotel and find out what's going on! Would you like that?"

"Ja, I would, Mein Herr. I would like that very much." A little smile played about Danzig's thin, perfectly curved lips. Her eyes were still gray and guarded. "I would also like it if the next time Russia comes to visit with his mortals, you would allow me to speak to him about my brother. I long to know how Feliks is doing." Now her smile softened. "Surely, a few minutes of conversation with him would be acceptable. It could even be in your presence if you like."

Gilbert paused. It was a decent offer, he thought. And if he could discuss the matter with Ivan beforehand and keep him from mentioning any letters he allowed Poland to send, it could work. Russia had as little fondness for Feliks as he did, and he might even enjoy being in on the game of thwarted communication between the Polish siblings. He nodded. "Ja, Adeladja. I shall write Austria tonight about Elena, and I shall speak to Russia about meeting with you to discuss your brother. Does that make you happy?"

He noted how her eyes shifted from gray back to dark blue. _So beautiful_, he thought. She not only believed him, but she was actually looking warmly at him. He hoped his plan would still work, that she would eventually see how futile it was to pursue her siblings, and that she would see him as doing his best. Then when she was heartbroken, he would comfort her, holding her close and murmuring consolation, telling her that at least she had him, that German entities would never break their words or her heart. He would make sure that she would never discover the truth, no matter how frantically his mind would have to race to keep several steps ahead of her.

Suddenly she stood up and wrapped her arms around him, pressing his head to her chest. The gesture amazed him. He almost wept, but he couldn't let that happen. Instead he wrapped strands of hair around his fingers and kissed them, blotting his eyes with them. He could taste the ambergris and Castile soap and he thought it was sweet. He felt soft little kisses on his hair and he clasped her waist, drawing her in closer to him. He could feel her heart beating under the layers of cloth and whalebone as he leaned against her. _So sweet, so comforting_, he thought, biting his lip. _This is what we can be like. _

"That makes me very happy," Danzig whispered. "Danke." Gilbert nodded, not trusting his voice until he had steadied himself. _Well, she should be grateful after all I've done for her_, he told himself. She then sat down, still smiling at him, and he finished combing her damp hair.

**Awww, so what do you think of Gilbert's emotions? Of Adeladja's response? And the first person who can identify the part of this chapter that appeared in an early chapter of "The Cuckoo Bird" in his/her review gets a prize-one of his/her favorite characters will appear in an upcoming chapter of "The Pet." It can't alter the basic narrative of the story, but somehow I will work that character in. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	23. Chapter 23 His Disappointment

**Chapter 23 His Disappointment**

**Despite the title, this is from Adeladja's point of view. Warning for sexual activity.**

They strolled along the pier, arm in arm, watching the seagulls swoop through the late afternoon sky. A breeze brought the scent of the ocean in and Adeladja inhaled deeply. She could feel the air's mix of salt and minerals fill her lungs, and even the corset couldn't keep her body from expanding. She studied the little waves lapping along the pier's pillars, the occasional strand of seaweed clinging to the manmade object. She felt a deep happiness roll through her, one that made her smile even as she felt Prussia's long fingers squeeze her upper arm.

She looked at him. He was also studying the sea. She had been pleased and reenergized by her swim, and surprised and touched by his visit to her. He had combed her hair carefully, and the charm made from his sister's hair had moved her. Best of all, he had said he would contact Austria and Russia about why she had not received letters from Krakow and Poland. Her hurt at not hearing from them and her distrust of Prussia seemed to evaporate in the Baltic sun.

Prussia turned to face her. "What was it like, Adeladja, when you were unconscious?" He asked her.

She thought a little. "It was peaceful," she said slowly, trying to recapture the experience. "No dreams or nightmares. Just a sense of being safe in the water."

"Makes sense for a Baltic coast personification," he mused. "I wonder what I would feel?" He was silent. "Maybe lying in a meadow, sleeping in the sunshine. With a breeze," he added. They continued to stroll. "So no fear?"

"Nein," Adeladja replied. It was actually very comforting, she recalled. "Just a feeling of being safe in someone else's hands."

"Hmmm." Prussia looked serious and then forced a smile on his face. "I don't plan to disappear any time soon, but it's nice to hear that it wasn't terrifying." He grew serious again. "Adeladja, if you had a choice, would you have wanted…the final step? To disappear, if it were so pleasant?"

"Nein," she said firmly. There were too many responsibilities, she thought. First to her own city's citizens, then to all the Poles in the German Empire, and last but not least, to Krakow and Poland. She couldn't leave them wondering why she had given up. Also, over the past few weeks, she had gained a new appreciation for existence. Good fresh fish and vegetables from the region, the sunshine, the feel and smell of the sea on her skin. Even Prussia's kindness seemed worth the return. "It's good to exist," she said.

"I'm glad to hear that, _Liebling_." He smiled at her and she could tell it was unforced this time. They walked some more. She felt content, his arm on hers. They passed a few mortal couples, and nodded and smiled in passing. Soon they were at the pier's edge, alone.

"Adeladja," Prussia finally said, turning to face her. "Do you know what would have happened if we had not saved you in time?"

"We wouldn't be enjoying this day, Mein Herr." Adeladja thought the answer was obvious. Prussia smiled a little and then exhaled, his breath ruffling the hair that fell over his eyes.

"Obviously, silly girl, but think of the more serious side of things. First of all, even though we are not supposed to kill other entities without our rulers' permission, the Chancellor would have granted it to me in retrospect. He would have been so delighted that he would have praised and rewarded me for getting rid of the last bit of Polishness in Danzig. Then after a year or two, another little entity would have shown up, a cute innocent _German_ entity who would have no memory of the past, who would be sweet and tractable." He looked out to the horizon, red-violet eyes squinting in the sun. "Do you know why I didn't let that happen, Adeladja?"

"Nein, MeinHerr, I do not presume to read your mind." She felt her heart begin to race

"It's because we are meant to be together, _Liebling_." Prussia said. "I've always wanted you, Adeladja. Not just the city, Danzig." He shrugged. "The port, trade, buildings and mortals. That's all well and good, but it's _you _I've wanted all these years. You belonged to me before and now we are together again, just the way it was meant to be."

Adeladja looked at Prussia. It wasn't exactly what she had hoped to hear, but she realized it was probably as close as he was going to get to any kind of declaration. He was studying her, a small smile on his thin lips, his eyes a dark burgundy. He reached out and brushed the tendrils of hair that blew against her cheek. "You see now why I couldn't let you die, Adeladja."

"So is this just a desire to possess me or something else, Mein Herr?" She saw him shift and look uncomfortable, but she didn't know whether it was because she had hit on the truth or they were venturing into territory he was unfamiliar with.

"Gilbert, call me Gilbert, Adeladja." He smiled a little more. "We have known each other all these years." His hand lingered on her cheek, and for a moment**, **Adeladja feared he was going to pat or pinch it. Instead he stayed still and she found herself resting slightly against his palm. "I like to see you like this," he whispered. "Healthy, alert, good-natured. I saw you smiling before. You're lovely when you smile." He tilted her chin up. "Smile for me, _Liebling."_

For a second, Adeladja resented his command. She felt like some child or pet being told to perform. But then she thought of how kind he had been to her since she had regained consciousness over two weeks ago. She looked into his face and noted how his silver-blond hair rustled in the ocean breeze, how expectantly he stared at her. When he's not cruel, she thought, he is bearable, even handsome. Slowly she smiled, and she was pleased when she saw his eyes soften.

"Ja, very lovely," he murmured. He tilted the parasol to hide them from the mortals who sauntered along the pier, leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and gentle, and she yielded to him. It was a sweet kiss, Adeladja thought, a gentlemanly one. He pulled away, tucked her arm under his and they continued to walk. She let her fingers rest along Prussia's arm, feeling the solid muscle and flesh under his summer suit jacket.

"This actually worked out well, didn't it?" He asked her. "The weather has been good, the air bracing, the atmosphere more relaxed than Potsdam. We should do this every year, to keep you healthy."

"Ja, Mein—Gilbert," Adeladja replied. "That would be very kind of you." They spoke a little about the concert they had attended the previous night, the guests at the resort and other small talk. The chat dwindled and they walked along the boardwalk in silence. She wanted to speak, but she was afraid of disturbing the quiet and his satisfied mood.

"Speak to me_, Liebling_," Prussia said. "You seem to have something on your mind."

"I'm afraid of offending you," she said.

They stopped walking and he looked down at her. As the sun began setting behind them, she couldn't see his face very well. _I've offended him already_, she thought. Of course the pleasant mood couldn't last.

"Adeladja, if I promise I won't get angry, will you tell me what you're thinking?" His voice was soft. She nodded. "Then say your piece."

"You have been so kind to me these past two weeks," she began, "and I am very grateful for all you have done for me." She could see him puff himself up at that. "But then why must you call me your 'pet'? Why did you start out so harshly towards me?" She shut her mouth and tensed her body for the expected fit.

"Why are you so cold and stubborn at times, Adeladja?" Prussia looked at her and she could see his amused smile. "That's my answer to your question."

They continued to walk**. **"I guess I am that way because I don't like being treated like an animal and forced to do things I don't want to do," she finally replied.

He sighed. "Everyone has to do things they don't like to do, Adeladja. I may advise my rulers, but in the end they control me. I've done things I didn't enjoy, but they were orders. Nations lose to others or become client states and they have to do what the stronger one wants. It's a great chain of command. The Chancellor and Emperor command me, but I command other states of the Empire, as well as my own provinces and cities." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"And the German Empire commands you, then."

Prussia laughed. "Nein, I advise him and he is smart enough to follow my advice. Ludwig looks up to me; he would never think of commanding me, his elder brother and best counselor." He patted her arm and smiled at her. "My best advice to you, dear Adeladja, is to accept your rank, go forward cheerfully and be praised and rewarded for your willingness. If you insist on being stubborn, you only end up being beaten and dragged like a donkey. I speak from experience."

Of course, he would advise her to do this, she thought. He would be the one who commanded her, praised her and beat her. And she could think of no recourse. Maybe the Empire, unless he agreed with how Prussia managed her. Maybe Saxony or Hannover, but the former was far away, and the latter was under Prussia's command. She studied the wooden boards as they walked along.

"You seem sad, Adeladja," Prussia said. "I answered your question without getting angry and I gave you some good advice. I'm sorry if you don't like hearing it, but it's the best way to go about things." He placed his arm about her shoulders. "Cheer up, _Liebling_. You're back from the dead! You shall be _meine Dame Lazarus_!"1

She smiled a little as he peered at her. "See, Adeladja, it's not so bad after all," he insisted. "At least no one is chasing you with a cudgel into battle against angry adult pagan males."

"Was that the experience from which you speak, Mei—Gilbert?"

Now it was his turn to look down and study the boardwalk. "Ja, it was," he muttered. "A cudgel behind me, a sword or spear before me. I learned it was worse to hang back than go forward."

Adeladja recalled how young he had been as the Teutonic Order when he and the knights had betrayed her city's request for help. Even then the boy had been a seasoned warrior, indifferent to the mass hanging of leading Polish citizens. He had been bossy towards her, Thorn and Elbing. Even thought they had brought in enough trade to pay his war debts, he had begrudged them little luxuries, like her harp and manuscripts of romances and love songs. He had sneered that they were not principalities or duchies, but merchant cities who should not put on aristocratic airs and who should read devotionals and saints' lives instead. She remembered how she and the other two cities had tricked the fatigued, hungry young knight into sleep with unwatered wine so they could plot to contact her brother Poland for help in throwing off the Order's yoke. He had shown up several days later, his bruises and surly manner evidence of his punishment. _That's how they made him this way_, she suddenly thought. She felt badly; she had never thought of what else he had undergone, not even as Feliks's vassal, subject to his whims.

And here she was, wearing clothes and jewelry Prussia had bought for her, gathering her strength in an elegant resort hotel at his expense, saved from death by him again. And here _he_ was, smiling down at her, squeezing her shoulder as she leaned against his warm, strong body. He was actually rather handsome, she realized, and kind, and generous. He could be harsh, she reasoned, but maybe he was right. She could either sulk and plot and wonder why he was so cruel, or review her situation, see what she could do to make it bearable, learn how to please him and hope for the best.

Adeladja thought about what Prussia wanted. She imagined herself being led to a river surrounded by deep fog. She could use a well-worn bridge to cross to the unknown other banks, or she could fight and balk and be beaten into the water's currents. Either way, she was going to end up on the other side; it was up to her to determine in what condition. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be his, after all, she mused. At least if she went willingly across the river, he would be pleased with her and be open to her influence.

They were heading towards the hotel, ostensibly to write letters, dress for an evening concert and then dinner. She stopped and turned to face him, pressing her body against his as she circled his neck with her arm so he had to lean in to hear her. "I don't feel like going out tonight," she whispered, "_Gilbert._"

She could do this, she thought as they kissed in the room. She had done this before, felt his lips grow hungrier on hers, his tongue slide against hers. She actually liked this part, especially when he cupped her face in his hands. She was happy to run her fingers through his hair and press against him as they edged back to the bed.

When his mouth slid down her neck, nipping and sucking at the thin skin, Adeladja had to clutch his shoulders to keep from sinking backwards. She liked this also, how dizzy it made her felt. This time she wouldn't force herself to stay on guard; she would follow the sensations to the end. She owed him too much to stop him.

She slid his suit jacket off as his fingers tugged at her bodice's buttons. She watched him work, touched by how carefully he undid the little loops. Of course, she thought, it was really his property, he had bought the ensemble for her, but she had not expected such care from Prussia. She undid his tie, the collar studs and the buttons of his shirt, brushing her fingers against his toned chest's scars. It could be worse, she thought; she wasn't giving herself to someone who could crush her with his bulk.

No, it wouldn't be that bad, she insisted to herself as she undid the hooks on her skirt,petticoats and bustle. He helped her step out of the sea of fabric, tape, and whalebone and pulled her in closer to kiss again. He was actually being kind to her, Adeladja realized as they sank to the bed and he ran his hands along her corseted waist and up to her decolletage. Her breath grew shallower, faster; she was nervous, she would admit that, but she had determined to go forward. She actually felt some kindness towards him, stroking his hair as he inclined his head to kiss her breasts. She could feel a flutter in her abdomen, a warmth rising like a stove being stoked. She sucked in her breath as Prussia undid the clasps on the corset's busk and freed her; she exhaled as he pushed her chemise down and squeezed her bare breasts. The heat seemed to rise upward, warming and making her feel heavier. No, it wasn't bad at all, she thought, as he swirled his tongue around a nipple and pulled gently at it with his lips. He had done this before to her, she liked it, and now she could succumb to it.

His lips traveled upwards to her mouth and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the muscles play under his shoulders' skin. His hips pressed against hers and she could feel how aroused he was. She was also, she realized, as she pressed back. It felt good, moving against him. It was as if their bodies' friction was feeding the fire that began in her belly and rushed through her limbs. If the rest felt like this, she could handle it.

"You like that, _Liebling_?" He whispered, and she nodded. "We're a good fit, ja? Kesesese," he whickered against her neck. She laughed a little in return. "It means we were meant for each other," he whispered, looking into her eyes.

Adeladja didn't say anything. She stared back, noting his eyes' dark burgundy color. Prussia kissed her deeply and she returned it. He broke the kiss and looked down at her. "What are you thinking, mysterious girl?" He asked in Polish.

"I'm thinking how grateful I am to you. For saving me when you didn't have to," she replied. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, she thought, but it was what she felt. Prussia caressed her face and smiled.

"Gratitude's a good thing," he replied. "I value it highly." _It's a start_, she thought his eyes said.

They kissed and rubbed against each other some more. She felt one of his hands undo the drawstring of her drawers and slide them down; she obliged by shaking her legs free of them. Now she felt nervous, too bare and vulnerable, but he had been kind to her, he had saved her life, and she wanted to let him know she was grateful. She tried to forget herself in his kisses, but when she felt his hand tease and pull lightly at the hair around her cleft, she tensed. _You have to do this_, she told herself, _you have to go onward._ She was finding it harder to breathe as his tongue filled her mouth, but she forced herself to do so through her nose and felt her muscles begin to relax.

She felt him begin to press and stroke that same patch of flesh he had touched before. It felt good, she thought, light and sweet, then growing in intensity. She arched against his hand, a small moan escaping she felt his finger slip inside her, where nothing had ever been before. It didn't hurt, the way novels and rumors had said it would, but it felt strange, foreign. Soon, she thought, soon the real thing would be inside her, the unknown would be known, and she would have nothing to fear anymore. He would get what he wanted, he would be pleased, and she would be able to use his gratitude to good purpose.

"_Taka dobra dziewczyna,"_ Prussia whispered as his mouth slid over to her ear, pulling at the lobe with his teeth.2 Adeladja had to laugh a little at how obvious he was, and yet it felt so good to hear those words. He pushed a second finger inside her, twisting, and she gasped a little. Now that hurt, she thought, as if someone were trying to open her up with a corkscrew. "Shh, shh, shh," Prussia whispered, kissing her neck, running his tongue along her veins until she felt heavy and lulled into a trance again. He was being kind, she reminded herself, gentle even, and she was almost at the bridge over the river and there was no turning back.

"_Taka dobra dziewczyna," _he repeated. _Such_ a good girl. She felt herself stretch and adjust to his fingers working inside her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, she thought. Of course the first time would hurt, but she could grow used to it, she needed to get used to it, in order to manage him and keep him as pleased and kind as he was now.

"_Węic jesteś chwaląc mnie,"_ she murmured.3 He laughed softly against her neck and paused to look at her. He was smiling at her, not with the usual smirk of triumph, but thoughtfully, with real affection in his dark eyes. Adeladja allowed herself a smile; she could handle this, she repeated to herself, especially if it got better with practice. Maybe this moment could be the seed of some kind of fondness that could grow over time.

She kept her eyes trained on his face, noting out of her peripheral vision his hands unbuttoning his trousers and undoing his drawers. She had seen this before, she had touched it, but now it was going where it was intended. She couldn't stop now, she decided, as she felt his knees nudge hers further apart; she had come this far and she owed him so much. She could feel the heat radiating off of him as _it _approached her inner thighs, as he leaned forward to kiss her. It was going to happen, the worst would be over, he would be the grateful one, and—

He burrowed his head into her neck, making a strange sound, something between a growl and a whine. His body collapsed on top of her, pressing all the air out of her lungs. She felt something wet and warm on her thigh. Adeladja blinked and stirred, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"Are you all right?" She whispered. For a moment, she wondered if a nation could just die like that; ridiculous, but not implausible. But Prussia was breathing, deep sighs. He rolled off of her and onto his back, turning his head from her.

Adeladja darted a glance over at him. His pale skin glowed in the dusk-gray room, his hands ran over his face. She smelled something familiar, rank and male, and looked down at her thigh. She saw milky liquid running down her skin, already drying. Oh, she thought, and then the realization grew on her. _Oh._

She had been reprieved, she realized, but she wasn't as pleased as she thought. _All this talk and gathering of courage for nothing,_ she thought. She glanced at him again, watching his rib cage rise and fall with each breath.

"What happened?" She asked. She wondered if she should touch him, if she could do anything. She felt silence, heavy and dark, building a wall between them. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing." His voice was muffled and thick. He wouldn't look at her. He sat up, and started drawing up his underwear and trousers. For all the paleness of his body, she could see how red his face was.

Adeladja's heart began to beat faster, a sick heavy sound. She was nervous now, but not with the earlier tingling of heat that had run through her body before. This was oppressive. She licked her lips. "Are you all right?" She repeated. "What—"

"Just shut up." His voice was cold, but when he turned to look at her, her stomach clenched. Of course he had red eyes, although she had only seen them this bright blood color when he was angry. But now the rims were red, even the whites were marbled with crimson, and they shone too brightly in the dim room. She barely nodded and kept her eyes trained on him as he collected his shirt and other clothes and put them on. Without another word, he leaned over to tie his boots, his white-blond hair obscuring his face. _Good_, she thought; she felt sick when she saw the rage burning there.

Prussia stalked towards the door and opened it. Light from the lamps in the hall wedged itself into the room. Adeladja propped herself on her elbows, watching him turn to leave. "Where are you going?" She asked, heart fluttering.

"Out," He snapped. He turned to face her, his sneer in place. "That's what you want, ja?" He slammed the door behind him, causing her to jump.

Adeladja lay back on the bed, heart threatening to break her ribs. _Be still_, she told it. A lump rose in her throat as she tried to slow her breath and heartbeat. Tears came to her eyes. _This is ridiculous_, she scolded herself, _I shouldn't be crying, I should be relieved. _ She sat up and pulled her chemise up over her chest and went to the chest of drawers to clean herself from the wash basin. She returned to the bed, pulled down the stained quilt and slipped between the sheets. It was too early for bedtime, but she suddenly felt exhausted. There was nowhere she wanted to go, no one she wanted to see. She blotted her eyes with the pillowcase and sighed, willing the tears to stop. She told herself she should be glad, amused even at the mighty Prussia's failure, but all she really felt was dread.

**Modern-day setting at a café, with France, Spain and Prussia at a table. France stares in disbelief and Spain facepalms himself. Prussia looks downcast.**

**France: Mon Dieu, that is the worst way to handle these things! That rarely happens to me, bien sûr, but when it does, I say, "Eh, ma belle, your beauty and my desire have undone me! But don't worry, I am very virile!" You make it a joke and a compliment, non?"**

**Spain: I like to say that I was tired, I had too much wine, and now we can get to the cuddling, which I prefer anyway. That always makes them feel better and before you know it, I'm ready to go!**

**Prussia: Thanks for the **_**awesome**_** advice. Too bad it's, oh, ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS TOO LATE!**

**So what do you think of Adeladja's thought process? Prussia's reaction to "equipment failure"? What do you think will happen next? I love to hear from you all!**

1 German: my Lady Lazarus. A reference to the New Testament story of Jesus raising his friend Lazarus from the dead

2 Polish: such a good girl

3 Polish: So you're praising me


	24. Chapter 24 His Wrath

**Chapter 24 His Wrath**

**A short, not so sweet chapter**

Gilbert stalked along the boardwalk, glaring under his hat at the mortals strolling under oil-lit lamps. He hated them, especially the honeymooners, the young blades with their sweethearts, whose virility oozed from their bodies just like their death smell. He sneered as he jostled one romantic pair; _enjoy yourself while you can before your flesh slows, stops and rots_, he thought as the young man turned back, offended. They were going on to the concert, dances, suppers, summer nights of lovemaking with the sea as their background music, and he was alone, a failure.

He couldn't believe it; this had never happened to him, never! He had waited and planned for this moment to occur, and when the opportunity presented itself, when he had been at the open gates of paradise, he had failed. He had wanted to cry, but he could never let Danzig see that; she already thought he was weak. He wouldn't be surprised if she were laughing to herself in the resort room, pleased that she had unmanned him.

_I've been too nice, too patient,_ he thought. He should have bent that _hochmütingen Schlampe_ over a table the first day she arrived in Berlin.1 _That_ would have taught her her place under him! He was tempted to turn back now and show her he meant business, but he felt too wired by anger. He didn't need a repeat performance, or worse, no performance at all.

What he really needed, he decided, was a beer. Several beers and maybe a fight. Then he could collapse, drained of all this heat running through his muscles, and sleep somewhere, anywhere; it didn't matter. The sun would reach him when it wanted, and he would pull himself back together to face his problem and solve it.

Gilbert found a beer garden and sat down at a table. It was dark, but Japanese-style paper lamps lit up the outdoor seating area. He was curt towards the serving maid, and took out a cigar to light. He studied the mortals through the sinuous blue cloud, sipping the beer she brought to him. More clusters of bachelors, a few families, a young man singing to an accordion. Stupid mortals, he thought, stupid drinking, whinnying, rutting beasts, oblivious to the suffering of the entities who represented them to the world.

He watched one family in particular. A middle-aged couple sat with a younger one, maybe a son or daughter with their new spouse or fiancé. They chatted and laughed over their beer and sausages, the younger couple squeezing hands and thighs under the table. Two children, one boy swinging his legs from the bench, and his younger brother leaning against the older woman's comfortable arm, completed the scene. They had their joys to compensate for their short, smelly lives, he thought contemptuously, but he had longevity, youth and power on his side. Too bad it felt like a punishment at times, a sentence of solitary confinement.

And he thought he had found his solution. Danzig had fluttered in and out of his grasp over the past five hundred years and he finally had her, weak and grateful. He liked how she had been unconscious during her first days in Zopot, when he hadsnuck in and curled against her still body at night. He hadn't done anything more than run his hands over her smooth limbs, maybe kiss her neck; he liked to think he had been helping her by warming her body against the open windows' night breezes. And then she came back to consciousness, still weak, touched by his stories of his heroism and quick thinking. He had enjoyed seeing her smile, feeling her fragile body lean against his as they began their walks along the beach. It amused him to coax her to eat delicate broths, fresh fish and summer vegetables and to see her face fill out and some color return to her cheeks. He had even managed to draw some unguarded words out of her, pleased with her dry humor and intelligence.

And now the little ingrate was probably preening before the mirror in the room _he _had paid for, pleased at his failure to make her completely his. Gilbert imagined Danzig putting on one of the elegant dinner gowns _he _had bought her, proudly strolling down to the resort's restaurant, ordering a supper to be put on _his _bill, to be eaten in a private room at extra cost to _him_. All the time, she was probably smirking at what a dupe he was, easily caught and teased into unmanning himself and while she scampered off, free and unpossessed.

Gilbert's hand tightened around the mug as he gestured for the bar maid to fetch him another. He imagined shattering it in his fist, picking up the shards and slicing the mortal's bland pink face as a warning to other predatory women. _Calm down_, he told himself, grunting a thanks to the maid as she brought his second beer. The poor creature is at least earning her keep, unlike _some_ females he could think of.

He took a drag off his cigar and froze. Danzig's scent still lingered on his fingers and a wave of longing hit him. He recalled the image of her lying on the bed, the last light of dusk coming through the thin shades and casting her bare torso in dramatic shadows. Beautiful, he had thought, like a statue from ancient Greece. He remembered her trusting eyes and hopeful smile as he leaned towards her, thinking how wonderful she felt, soft, wet and warm. He wanted so desperately to be inside her, to feel her move under him and hear her sigh with pleasure, overwhelmed by his power and skill. She had actually been willing, unlike all his other attempts. And it had all fallen apart, hundreds of years of desire gone in a second.

Maybe that was it, he thought as he summoned the bar maid for a third beer. Maybe he needed her resistance, needed to feel the pleasure of forcing someone against her will. But why? He could have kept her brother around if he wanted that; one thing he'd say for the little _Arschloch_, he never was willing and never gave nor asked for quarter. He mused over his cigar smoke, watching the family leave, the women smiling at their men as they linked arms, the children following. He didn't think the women would look so pleased and comfortable if they had been battered and forced into submission by their men. Did he want Danzig to look at him like that or to look at him with fear and dread? Both had their appeal, Gilbert admitted, but he didn't know how to reconcile them.

The beer cooled him, slowed his thoughts down. He could feel a plan forming, one that charmed him. He rummaged in his coat's inner pocket for his memo book and pencil stub; he needed to take notes before further drinking caused him to forget. As he jotted down his ideas, he couldn't help smirking.

Around Gilbert, the night grew darker, the clientele younger, rowdier, more male. He ignored their laughter and jokes as he sketched out his plan and kept drinking. But somewhere around the sixth beer, he had to put away his memo book. The noise and smell of young male mortals started to annoy him. He sat back, focusing his lingering shame and rage on a trio of particularly loud fellows whose German sounded a little too Slavic for his taste. He studied them through a haze of tobacco and beer, sneering.

One of the young men had noticed him and was whispering to his fellows. Finally the largest of the group glared back at him. "What are _you_ staring at, _Sie hässliche Missgeburt_?"2

Gilbert smirked contemptuously as he sauntered over and blew smoke in the lad's face. "Nothing much, just some _polnische Schweine_ passing themselves off as good _Deutsche Schinkens_."3

Silence. Suddenly, the largest lunged at him. Gilbert laughed, went for his eyes with the lit cigar, and the fight began.

**So what do you think of Gilbert's thoughts about Danzig and what he wants? I love to hear from you and I appreciate all you readers and reviewers. Next chapter is going to be a good one!**

1 German: haughty bitch

2 German: you ugly freak

3 German: Polish swine…German ham


	25. Chapter 25 Her Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 25 Her Best Laid Plans**

**This is a long chapter, so set aside plenty of time to read it. But a lot happens, and a lot of it is dialog, so hopefully it won't be boring.**

Adeladja woke up, blinking as the sun floated through the white shades and curtains. She looked around the room and saw yesterday's dress and underpinnings in a little heap. It reminded her of the previous night's hopes and failure, the return to the same gut-wrenching anxiety about Prussia. _Prussia. _ She pursed her lips and shook her head.

She sat up and realized she was hungry. She would have to dress herself and brave the dining room alone, but she could manage it. Nobody was around to remind her that she was a reflection upon _him_, that she had to present a certain appearance that pleased _him_. She smiled as she tucked her golden-brown hair into a snood , changed her chemise, stockings and drawers and lightly laced her corset. She put a simple outfit on, and went downstairs to breakfast. It was early enough that few people were there to watch her as she ate. She went back to the room and froze; what was she supposed to do?

She wondered about Prussia. Was he going to return, and if he did, what kind of mood would he be in? She remembered how gentle he had been until the last moment and how he had left in barely controlled rage. She didn't know what to expect when she saw him again. If he were in a good mood, then she would have to pretend that she was glad to see him. But then she thought of his pride, his failure, and how punitive he could be. She sank down on the bed and rested her face in her hands. Always the same, she thought; a bit of kindness and then cruelty. Every gift came with a price. It was like one could not exist without the other in him. _I can't take it anymore_, she thought.

_You don't have to, _a small voice said to her. She paused and reflected on it. He wasn't here and she wasn't eager to see him. Danzig was not that far from Zopot; she could go home! She could get a train ticket and leave today and be in her own townhouse on Long Street by the afternoon. She got up and changed into a more presentable outfit. As she adjusted her hat in the mirror, she couldn't help smiling. She was going to go home, safe from Prussia's whims!

Adeladja pawed through her reticule, finding only a few _Pfennige_.1 She paused, and then rummaged through the coat and trouser pockets of Prussia's suits, locating a few more. She felt bad, but then reassured herself that he wouldn't miss them. She looked through the jewelry he had brought for her. Amber was too plentiful on the Baltic coast, so she didn't think she could get much for the set he had given her. Pearls, perhaps. And then there was the hated leather collar with the rubies and diamonds. Surely the stones could pay for the train ticket all by themselves. Now all she needed to do was find either a pawn store or reputable jeweler who would give her a fair price.

As she reached for the door, a little voice stopped her. _He's going to find you_. That was true, she realized, and when he did, he would be furious. But he would have to come to _her _city, and she would _not_ let him into her house or meet her alone in any private place. Adeladja recalled the names of her great families, the magnates and wealthy merchants who had been her leaders and mayors over the centuries. These families had shielded her from Prussia during the terrible years between the Third Partition and France's victory over Prussia; their descendants still resided in Danzig and they still felt greater loyalty to her than to him. She could ask them for help and protection again.

_You're stealing from him, and you know what he thinks of ingrates, _the voice continued. She pursed her lips. She hated this, being reduced to behaving like a greedy adventuress, but how else was she going to get a ticket back to Danzig? He had made sure she never had any money on her. _I'm only taking a few pieces to pawn, _she told herself. She would leave everything else, including the dresses. Furthermore, she would send him back the cost of the train ticket when she got back to Long Street; she would owe him nothing and she would not be accused of taking advantage of his generosity.

She would not sneak off like a guilty thief, she decided. She sat down at the desk, took out some hotel stationery, opened the ink bottle and dipped the pen in it. She rapidly composed a letter:

_Mein Herr Preu__ß__en,_

_ I am very grateful for all you have done for me and for your generosity, but the events of last night have made me realize that we have difficulties between us that we cannot surmount. I am returning to my city and I believe that this step will be beneficial to both of us in the long run. Please do not contact me personally; if you are compelled to write to me, then please address it to me care of the Mayor's office. I will only meet with you in person in the presence of the Mayor and some of my other leading citizens; I will refuse any visits you attempt to my home. _

_ I am sorry to take these measures but I believe they will spare both of us further frustration and unhappiness. Once again, thank you for saving my life and I remain a loyal and humble citizen of your Kingdom._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Adeladja __Łukasiewicz_

_ City of Gdańsk_

_P.S. I will reimburse you for the cost of the train ticket through a bank draft sent in the mail. Please note I have not taken anything else._

Adeladja went down to the lobby, ready for her errand. Suddenly a vaguely familiar female voice called, "Frau Bielschmidt!" Adeladja startled and snapped her head in the voice's direction. She saw the stout nurse, Frau Becker, waving at her as she pushed a wheelchair with an elderly woman in it. "Frau Bielschmidt!" The woman called happily.

Adeladja turned and stared at the mortals, shocked. _How dare he!_ She thought She drew herself up to her full height and smiled nervously at the mortal, hoping she didn't notice the rage flashing in her stare.

"It is so good to see you up and about, Frau." The nurse dipped a brief curtsey at her and bent down to her patient. "Frau Lehman, this is one of my former patients, Frau Bielschmidt. She came here at death's door, and now look at her, the very picture of youth and good health!" She smiled as the elderly woman studied Adeladja. "Are you enjoying the ocean air, Frau?"

"Ja, very much. It is quite restorative." Adeladja recalled how the nurse had always called her "Frau" and not " Fraulein"; she had taken it for a sign of respect, not that the woman actually thought she was Prussia's _wife_. She further remembered how Prussia often cut the woman and other mortals off after they addressed her as "Frau." Now she knew why, and Hannover's discomfort when she stayed with them started to make sense.

Frau Becker looked pleased. "I have to admit that I thought your doctor's and husband's medical advice was absurd, but when I saw it begin to work, I thought 'Why not? Isn't this why the sick come to Zopot, to let the air and sea restore them?'" She beamed. "And so it did!"

"Ja, it did, along with your help, Frau," Adeladja said stiffly. She was afraid of her rage coming through in her voice; it wasn't the nurse's fault, she reminded herself. "I'm sorry, Frau Becker, but I have an urgent errand to run. Again, thank you for all you did and I wish you and your new patient the best."

"Danke and stay well, Frau Bielschmidt. Send your husband my greetings, and good luck with your errand." Adeladja noted that the mortal woman looked confused and put off by her brusque tone. _It's not her fault,_ she told herself as anger roiled in her stomach. _The poor creature only called me what she was told to call me. But how dare he!_

She went to the hotel clerk's desk and asked if he knew of any pawn stores or jewelers in Zopot. He looked suspicious as he shook his head and said the nearest stores of that kind were in Danzig. "Not even a seller of amber jewelry?" Adeladja asked. Surely that would fit under 'souvenir.'

The clerk thought a little, chewing on the ends of his mustache. "What do you need the money for, Frau?"

"I need to go to Danzig," she replied. "It's an emergency and I don't have the funds."

The clerk chewed his mustache a little more. "I'm very sorry, Frau, but I don't see how I can be of help to you. What you want is in Danzig and yet you can't get there." Adeladja sighed and hung her head. The clerk softened a little. "What is your room, Frau? Perhaps we could do a charge or some kind of advance…"

She told him and when he looked it up in the ledger, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Frau Bielschmidt, ja? Does Herr Bielschmidt know anything about this emergency?"

Adeladja leaned over the counter. "I am _not_ Frau Bielschmidt, and Herr Bielschmidt is _not _my husband! He has kidnapped me and is attempting to seduce me." The clerk's eyes widened. "Bitte, mein Herr, let me go to Danzig! I am good for the money! I can give you the names of a dozen leading citizens who will vouch for me!"

The clerk fixed his pince-nez and stopped chewing his whiskers. "Frau, I was here the day Herr Bielschmidt and his friends brought you at death's door to this hotel. I saw the concern and solicitude in that man's face. You cannot tell me that a man with evil designs would go to such lengths and care over one female in such a public fashion."

Adeladja stared at him, horrified. "Ja, he would!" She scrabbled for pen and paper, but the clerk pulled them away from her. "Bitte, Herr," she pleaded, "I will give you my real name and the names of Danzigers you may contact who will vouch for my identity. But I must return to Danzig and I have no money on me."

The clerk turned and began to poke at the pigeonholes behind the counter. "I can't put an advance on your bill without your husband's permission, _Frau." _He glanced over his shoulder. "If you are going to make a scene in front of our other guests, I will have you detained in a back room until Herr Bielschmidt returns."

Adeladja's stomach sunk and she bowed her head. She had no time to argue; who knew when Prussia would come sauntering back into the lobby? She stepped out on the resort's porch and checked the boardwalk and pier for Prussia. Good; he wasn't there. She noticed a few of the local boys dawdling around, offering tours or errand-running services to the tourists. She waved one over and asked if he could lead her to the telegraph office. He agreed and she followed him away from the pier and bath houses and towards the central part of town.

At the telegraph office, she asked the boy to wait outside while she dashed off a brief message to Moscow: FELIKS, REGROUPING. SEND ALL MESSAGES TO GDANSK. ACL. She checked the streets and then stepped out, where she saw a few shops opening. "Do any of these buy or sell jewelry?" She asked the boy. He nodded and pointed out a little store with a display of watches, spectacles, and telescopes. She gave him a few _pfennig_e for his help and entered the shop.

Adeladja left the shop a half hour later, feeling dissatisfied and cheated. The store owner had initially dismissed the leather collar as an animal's and therefore made of worthless paste stones. When she indicated it was actually a piece of women's jewelry, he finally looked more carefully at the stones with his loupe and conceded that they were Czech crystal, nothing more. Adeladja stared at the band in shock and growing anger. She had thought Prussia had valued her at more than that. She showed him the pearl earrings and necklace and he offered her a sum for those along with the collar. When she asked him if he could give her the equivalent for the price of a train ticket to Danzig, he shook his head. She decided that she would need to go back to the hotel to collect more jewelry and items for him to buy. She took the sum he offered and left.

It sickened her to sell more of the jewelry Prussia had given her and to feel herself more and more indebted to him, but she reminded herself that it would only be temporary. She would buy her ticket and once she was safe and sound in Long Street, she would be able to withdraw her own money and pay him back. He could do what he liked with the dresses. She had her own clothes at her home; she would not stoop to running off with stolen finery.

As she headed back towards the hotel, she mentally reviewed the jewelry that was back at the room: the amber set, a gold brooch with garnets and pearls, a cameo brooch, gold and garnet earrings, and a silver chatelaine with a perfume bottle, nail file, embroidery scissors and needle case. She would bring everything, she decided, and keep offering piece by piece until she had enough for a ticket to Danzig. Then she would part immediately for the train station. So what else would she need to pack? She wondered as she opened the door and entered the room.

"_Guten Tag, _Adeladja." When she heard Prussia's voice, she screeched. He had hidden himself behind the door. Before she could bolt, he swung the door shut behind her.

"The clerk told me about the little scene you caused earlier today." He stood up and backed her further into the room. "I told him my poor dear _wife _was not well; she suffered from strange fits in which she imagined she was a character in a novel." He smirked and she felt a cold hand rush up her spine. "So, have you come back to add another postscript?" He waved the letter before her. "Maybe explain what these _difficulties_ are?" She studied his face. He had a black eye, bruises on his nose and jaw, and dried blood on his lower lip. When he smiled at her, fresh blood appeared. She shuddered.

"You look terrible." She hoped the bluntness would startle him into moving aside.

He shrugged. "You should see the mortals." He blocked her attempt to go over to the chest of drawers. "Where do you think you're going?"

"The letter told you." She was trembling, but she felt a giddy bravery take hold of her. _Chest of drawers, then door._ If she could get to those, then she would be out in public and any calling for help would bring others out. "I need to get some things and go."

"_What_ things?" He sneered. "You own nothing here."

"You gave me gifts and they are mine to do what I please with them. Don't worry, you'll be reimbursed." She tilted her chin upward, trying to appear brave.

"I don't care about the _verdammt_ money," he snarled as he grabbed her upper arm. She tried to shake him off, but he dug in further until she yelped. "I _do_ care about why you are leaving." He steered her back to the bed and forced her to sit beside him.

Adeladja glared at him. She could feel the heat rising to her face, but she would _not_ let herself begin to cry before him. She had given him enough of her tears. This was the real Prussia, she decided; not the eager, vulnerable lover of last night, but the liar and bully who reveled in fights and others' pain. She had nothing to say to him; she only had to figure out how to get away, get to the jewelry case on the chest of drawers, and leave.

"Adeladja, talk to me. Tell me what you meant by this letter." She refused to look at him. From her peripheral vision, she could see his collar was askew, his tie was loose, his suit was soiled and wrinkled, and his hair was messier than usual. She didn't care, she decided; she focused on the chest of drawers across from them.

"_I said_, tell me what you meant by this letter." His hand twisted on her arm, burning the skin and flesh. She winced.

"Isn't it obvious?" She finally sighed. The pain brought tears to her eyes. She turned her head away from him.

"Nein, Adeladja, it's not." His voice had grown softer. "I'm just a stupid soldier. Tell me."

_ A stupid soldier, indeed, _ she thought bitterly. "You're a liar," she hissed at him. "You lied to those mortals about me. I'm not your _wife!_ And who is this doctor who saved me? You never told me about him!" She glared at him. The visit in the bath house and last night were now spoiled memories. Her mind raced and an awful idea came to her. "Mein Gott, you didn't have a minister come while I was unconscious, did you?" She looked about, trying to pull away from him. "I can't be your wife!"

"Calm down, you silly girl!" Prussia shook her arm and forced her to stay. "I told a little lie, I admit it."

Adeladja studied him, quivering with rage. He was not the sweet young man who had confided in her about his sister or had been so tender; he was _Prussia_, the nation who had tried to destroy her brother and claim her for his own selfish reasons. "Why did you do it? And what other _lies_ have you told me?"

"I told it so you would be treated respectfully by the hotel staff, _du dummes Mädchen_, that's why!"2 Prussia glared back at her. "If I had come in, telling everyone you were Fraulein Łukasiewicz, they would have wondered what you were doing here with me. Would you prefer me to tell them the truth, that you are my _Nebenfrau_, my kept woman?" He seemed to gain in height and strength as he pulled her face to his. " Do you think they would have treated you so respectfully if I had said, 'she is my _concubine_'?"

Adeladja flinched at the word as if he had slapped her. "Why couldn't you have said I was your sister or cousin? And I am _not_ your concubine—try 'hostage'!" She tried to jerk away again, but he yanked her back so hard, she gasped. She raised a hand to slap him, and Prussia laughed at her.

"Kesesese, Adeladja, go ahead! Is this how Poles say 'thank you' to those who save their lives?" He leaned in again, smirking. "Shall we fight, _Liebling?_ After all I've done for you, you have the _verdammt_ nerve to battle with me?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "You know I'd win, _Mädchen, _and you know what the victor does to the vanquished, ja?"

Adeladja stared at him. This was horrifying, she thought. He had lied about her marital status; what else had he said to others and to her? She dropped her hand and shook her head. "I can't believe anything you tell me now," she said slowly. "You lied to others about me. You've probably been lying to me all along. You can't be trusted, just as Feliks said."

"Adeladja, it was one little lie, a _white lie_, to protect your reputation!" Prussia tried to smile and look nonthreatening, but she shuddered. "Everything else I have told you is true. What your brother did to me, the letters, everything else is true. That wasn't meant to deceive you, it was meant to protect you, don't you understand?" His voice and demeanor softened. "_Bitte, Liebling_, I wanted you to be treated well, as a respectable mortal woman. They don't understand about nations; they would have gossiped and disrespected you as a loose girl. I didn't want to see them behave that way towards you, _moja kochanie."_3

"I'm not your sweetheart," she snapped. What he said made sense, but she still bristled over the fact that he had lied. "You could have said that I was your sister and they would have treated me just as well."

"Ja, I should have. But it didn't occur to me. They asked about you and I blurted out you were _meine Frau_." He smiled winningly at her. "That was the first thought that came to my mind when I was asked."

Adeladja studied him. His eyes had darkened back to burgundy and he was no longer clutching her arm so fiercely. Now he squeezed it gently as he smiled and blushed. _I should run now,_ she thought, but she felt glued to the bed. The adrenaline rushing throughout her body made her limbs tremble and weaken.

"I am sorry that I offended you, Adeladja, by giving you an honorable title," he said softly. "There. Does that make you feel better?"

Adeladja couldn't speak. The proud, commanding Prussia had finally said _I am sorry_. She wondered if he would apologize for anything else. "Frau Becker mentioned a doctor," she said. "Was there a doctor or did you lie about saving me?"

Prussia pinched his lips and broke her gaze. Finally, he turned back to her. "It was Saxony." He spoke so softly, she could barely hear him. "Saxony told us how to revive you." He drew himself up and his eyes flashed ruby again. "But he did it because I commanded him to tell me! When you were unconscious, they all stood about, looking at me for what to do. I told him that we needed to save you. Otherwise, you would have been gone for good. So," his swagger returned, "I supervised Frau Becker and Hannover and helped take care of you. I did save your life, Adeladja. _That's _not a lie."

"It's another white one," she replied. He had made it sound as if he had singlehandedly come up with her cure, when he had only followed Saxony's instructions. An image of a printed book page came into her head; she could see all he had told her in black, crisp letters disappearing under a brush of white. It was all nothing, she realized, all his words had sunk into the white page. "Even a white lie is a lie, Mein Herr," she said coldly. "And those who lie for even innocent reasons can't be expected to be trusted fully." She turned her head from him to study the chest of drawers. All he had to do was break his grip and she could jump up and rush to grab the jewelry case. Her heart pounded madly; she could try it, she decided.

"Adeladja, you're going to hold two white lies against me, after I have kept my word to you in so many ways? Haven't I behaved towards you the way I said I would?" She was unmoved by the exasperation in Prussia's voice. "I didn't lie about other things, I swear on my honor!"

"The Prussian honor of 1790? Or 1793?" She muttered under her breath. In 1790, Prussia's king had promised to be an ally to the Polish king against Russian threats, but he had broken his word and participated in the final partition of her brother. She glanced out of the corner of her eyes and saw Prussia's nose twitch and his eyes narrow. _Touch__é__, _she thought smugly.

"We do what our mortal leaders tell us to do, Adeladja," he said tightly.

"Ja, always such a convenient excuse," she replied without looking at him. She remembered what he had told her about executing Elbing under Friedrich II's orders. She was too angry and disgusted to shed any tears now.

"It's not an excuse. It's a burden," he replied. "Maybe _you've_ been fortunate enough to avoid being put in difficult situations, but so many of us have had to befriend enemies and declare war on friends because our masters told us to. Do you think we like that?"

Adeladja refused to answer him, her eyes trained on the chest of drawers. _Let me go_, she repeated to herself, hoping her thoughts would reach his hand on her arm. To her dismay, he squeezed more firmly. "Adeladja, speak to me!"

"Let me go," she whispered. "You're a liar. I can't believe anything you say or do. I don't believe you care for me at all. You just want to boast that you own Poland's sister as your whore." She turned to stare at him. He looked pained. "You see," she added with a grim smile, "that _I_ prefer not to tell white lies."

"Nie, Adeladja. You got things wrong. I told you that you are not my whore; I'm not going to throw money at you and tell you to leave. You are my pet, _mein Liebling_, _moja kochanie_. Why can't you see that, you stubborn _Polin?_"

As he spoke, Adeladja felt as if a hand had clutched her heart. He was not going to let her go, she realized. Here she was, only a short drive or train ride from her own city, and he wouldn't even insult her with payment so she could go home.

"I can't be your _anything_, Mein Herr Preußen," she said coldly, pleased when she felt him flinch. "Let me go back to my city."

"But you belong to me," he insisted. "On and off throughout the centuries, and now for good."

"Just as Hannover, Königsberg and others belong to you. I will pay my taxes, pledge my loyalty, and follow your laws, no more, no less."

"Nein , it's more than that," he said. "You came to me, you offered yourself in exchange for your brother." Before she could say anything, he took her chin with his other hand and forced her to look at him. She was startled to see tears in his eyes. "Last night," he whispered, "you were so sweet and yielding, how could I not be overwhelmed?" He studied her. "We could have been _very _happy."

Adeladja felt as if someone had punched her hard in the stomach. She would have almost preferred that instead of seeing Prussia as a being who felt something other than rage, lust, and delight in others' suffering. "Ja," she finally acknowledged, "but then you left in anger, and what was I to think?" He looked down and she felt some satisfaction. "You see, Preußen," she said, "that there is too much fear and distrust between us to be sweethearts. Let me go to my city," she urged, "and maybe in time we could meet together and discuss this." Anything, she thought, to get out of here. She could lie, too.

She watched him bite his lip, fresh blood beading where the lower one had been split. "I need to go," she insisted, trying to rise up. "I need to catch the train to Danzig."

He gripped her arm and forced her to sit. "If you leave," he said, "I will wire Russia and tell him that our deal is off and he is to send your brother _immediately_ to me. Ivan will be more than happy to get rid of him." He glared at her, and his eyes were wet, red, and terrible. "Everything I did to Feliks before our agreement will be child's play compared to how he will suffer then. And all because his _loving sister_ couldn't handle a couple of white lies to protect her."

Adeladja's stomach tightened. "_Bitte_, leave Feliks out of it." Fear rose in her. "I will pay my taxes, follow your laws and pledge my loyalty! I'll pay you a yearly tribute out of my own funds! But please," she begged, "leave him alone. I should never have done this!"

Prussia narrowed his eyes. She noted with dread that they were no longer wet. "Why do you beg mercy for someone who has never answered your letters, Adeladja?" He whispered. "I wired him and your sister Krakow when you seemed ready to disappear, and neither answered! What kind of fraternal love is that?" He spat. "If I heard Ludwig was at death's door, I would have moved heaven and earth to be at his side. Even _Ivan_ would have let Feliks write; he's a fool for family. And yet," he moved his face closer to hers, "nothing from Poland. Not even a line."

"As if I can believe you now," Adeladja sneered. Prussia looked as if she had slapped him. His eyes turned hard, bright ruby, and she felt his nails dig into her arm. She tried to yank away and he gripped harder.

"How dare you," Prussia hissed. "I have confessed two little lies meant to protect you, you ingrate, and you dare to think I am lying about your lousy siblings?"

Adeladja saw the rage flame up in his eyes. She was afraid now; his grip reminded her of his strength and how hard he would fight to prevent her from getting the jewelry case and out of the room. But she had to try, even if it meant a beating in the process. "Ja, I do," she breathed. "I have no reason to trust a thing you do or say."

He raised his free hand and she flinched. But then she forced herself to stare back. "Go ahead, Mein Herr, hit me!" She raised her chin. "I will let every mortal know that Herr Bielschmidt deceives and beats his _wife_."

She tensed, waiting for the blow, but it never arrived. Instead, Prussia lowered his hand and smirked at her, an ugly expression that chilled her more than his earlier anger. "Nein, _Mädchen, _no more lies for you. I'll tell everyone what you really are, a Polish whore who ran away and cheated a Prussian officer out of his money." His smirk grew wider as she blushed. "See how polite and helpful they'll be then!"

This was enough, Adeladja thought. She jerked her arm away, trying to break the grip, but he tightened it. She gasped in pain. "Let me go!" She demanded.

"Nein, Adeladja, we're not done here," He laughed as she struggled and he forced her back to sitting on the bed. She glared at him. "Listen to me, you stubborn little fool. I came here to explain last night to you, to make things better between us. I even brought a peace offering. Look!" He rummaged in his jacket's pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small bottle. "See?" He said triumphantly as he waved the bottle and she saw the telltale gold flakes float and sift in the clear liquid.

_This is ridiculous,_ Adeladja fumed. She had no time for explanations-_nie, lies_-or making up. She needed to grab the _cholernie_ jewelry box and get out.4

"Let me go," she repeated dully, "I have a train to catch." Prussia shook his head. "I'll let you go, soon enough. But we'll have a parting glass of _Danziger Goldwasser_," he said. "At least let us part without anger."

"As if that will do it," she muttered.

He smiled and shrugged. "It's a goodwill gesture." He looked about. "But we don't have any glasses. Let me get some." Before she could say anything, he got up and left the room.

Adeladja ran to the chest of drawers and grabbed the jewelry case. She tried the doorknob and realized that he had locked it. She cursed and thought about it. Of course, he had had the key and had not locked it when he had left last night, she thought. She looked out the windows and debated jumping. The distance was too great, and she feared breaking a limb. Well, she would have her drink with him and then she would go.

She heard a key turn and she darted back to the bed, hiding the jewelry box in her skirt's folds. Prussia returned, triumphantly waving two glasses from the restaurant. "I know how to forage," he smirked. He set them down on the desk and filled them with the _Goldwasser_ and offered one to Adeladja. "_Prost!" _He cried and they clinked glasses. Adeladja downed hers. The familiar herbal flavor soothed her.

Prussia sat down next to her. "Adeladja, do you want to know what happened last night?" He asked.

Frankly, she was done with his lies. She stood up, smoothed her skirt, tucking the box into a pocket, and said, "Thank you for the drink. I have some errands to run and a train to catch. Tell me in your letter."

He grabbed both her wrists and turned her to face him. "_Bitte_,_ Liebling_, I'm going to confess something that I never would to anyone else." He smiled and swung his long legs boyishly; before Adeladja knew it, he had managed to squeeze them around hers. She twisted and pulled, trying to break his hold on her, but he gripped her between them.

"I don't have time for this!" She cried. She was starting to feel tired. She needed to sell her jewelry, get to the station and buy her ticket, and get on the train. Then, she thought, she could let herself collapse. But here was stupid Prussia, grinning at her and holding her captive, as if they were sweethearts playing a lovers' game. "I have a train to catch!"

"There's always a train to Danzig, _Liebling_. You can get the next one," he said. He pulled her in closer, his thighs trapping hers. Centuries of riding had made him too strong, she realized as she couldn't break away. She blinked; she was starting to feel dizzy. _I shouldn't have had the Goldwasser so early in the day,_ she thought.

"_Pos__ł__uchaj mnie, s__ł__odki upart__ą dziewcynę," _ he whispered.5 Adeladja shook her head; she wasn't falling for his old trick again. She swayed, trying to keep her balance. Why did she feel so tired? She couldn't rest now, she had to get out of here. She had something to do, a train to catch. She was finding it harder to focus on Prussia's face. She blinked and almost fell backwards.

Prussia pulled her back and she landed on his chest. She didn't want to lean on him, but how else was she going to regain her balance? She pressed her fists against him to push away, but she felt weak and useless, like a starved kitten. _Bóze,_ only one glass of liquor was doing this to her?

"Sit down, _Schätzchen." _He gently rolled her back onto the bed. Adeladja panicked. She didn't want to be so vulnerable before him. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and groaned. Her head felt heavy, as if someone had poured lead into her skull. She really wanted to sink back and rest, but she had to do something, something important: What was it, again?

"I'm not well," she whispered. She felt Prussia's hand stroking her back. If she squinted hard enough, she could see him studying her, hard garnet eyes glinting in the light. His hand felt warm and soft, very comforting, almost as much as the cloud of unspun wool wafting around her.

"You need to rest, Adeladja," he whispered. His voice sounded far away, as if separated by layers of the wool. A lovely voice actually, she thought as she slumped against him, a voice like silver. She giggled a little; who knew metals had voices? She could hear the lead filling her skull, rattling like little pellets as she shifted and they fled to one side. That hurt.

She felt something cool and dead against her lips. "Here is some medicine, _Liebling_." She drank; it was the _Goldwasser_ again, the cause of all her troubles. She wanted to spit it out, but that would take more effort than swallowing. She felt herself fall backward, wondering how long it would take to hit the earth, but she felt the familiar cotton sheets and mattress under her. Another layer of wool drifted over her, muting the pale light.

"Am I dying?" she mumbled and she rolled her head towards Prussia. He was looking down at her and through the layers, all she could see were the shadows of his face and red eyes. "What did you do to me?" Words were so hard. She closed her eyes.

"Shhh," he whispered. His hand felt cool, then hot on her forehead. It melted the pictures she was seeing her mind: the court in Krakow, then Warsaw, red velvet curtains fading and tearing, winged horses racing down a plain, her city's walls collapsing like ice in spring. Feliks turning to smile at her with his wary emerald eyes that she needed to pawn for a ticket. A ticket for what? She heard music in her head, a mazurka that suddenly turned off key and unfurled like a winding sheet towards her.

She opened her eyes and studied Prussia for the last time. The woolen clouds parted, allowing her to see him as clear and detailed as an etching. He didn't look like the angry adult who had threatened her earlier, but younger, the oddly colored boy who had pestered her to play with him. And she had refused. Tears came to her eyes. "I'm sorry," she managed.

"It's all right, _Liebling_." Now his voice had turned to black velvet.

Adeladja shook her head. "Child. War. Cudgels." The words were so heavy to get out; she wished he could see what she saw, the horror and pity and pain, the vengeful eagles attacking each other, always sinking their _verdamm_t talons into each other. "Brother," she managed. "Forgive us." She faded.

**100 reviews! Thank you so much! So what did you think of this chapter? I love to hear from you!**

1 Smallest form of currency in early German Empire. 12 Pfennig equaled 1 Silbergroschen (at least until 1871 when Silbergroschen were replaced by 10 –Pfennig pieces) and 30 Silbergroschen equaled 1 Vereinthaler. In 1873, the Vereinthaler would be replaced by the Mark, which was equal to 3 Vereinthaler.

2 German: you silly girl

3 Polish: my sweetheart, darling

4 Polish: damn, damned

5 Polish: listen to me, sweet stubborn girl


	26. Chapter 26 Her Defeat

**Chapter 26 Her Defeat**

**I'm posting a day earlier because I'll be busy at an anime con this weekend and don't think I would have time on Friday. So here 'tis. Warning for nonconsensual sexual activity.**

Adeladja groaned. She had such strange dreams, images shifting into each other. White palaces in clouds, a misshapen monster made of many human parts wishing her "_Weso__ł__ych __Ś__wi__ą__t!" _as it offered to strangle her, a well-dressed woman on a white horse cantering over her and crushing her bones into the ground.1 A splendid red and gold galleon crashed against rocks in a cordial glass as waves played and murmured overhead. She shook her head and reached to massage her temples, but her hands wouldn't move. She tried again, tugging, but her hand wouldn't come to her. She opened her eyes and noted that her hand was tied to the bedpost with a stocking. The other one and her legs were also tied, so that she was spread-eagle on the hotel bed. It was already dusk.

"Nein!" She wailed, clenching her fists and kicking her stocking feet on the mattress. She looked down and realized she was only dressed in her corset, shift and stockings. _Mój Bój,_ she agonized, she should never have had that drink! She growled in frustration and tried to yank herself free, but the knots grew tighter.

She heard a paper rustle and glared at the desk. Prussia looked up over a newspaper. He had cleaned himself up and was in shirtsleeves. He sauntered over to the bed. She could see that his black eye and bruises were already fading and even his split lower lip looked healed.

"So how's my girl?" He asked, smoothing her forehead.

"I'm not your girl!" She hissed. She bared her teeth and lunged at his hand, but he pulled away. She hated how amused he looked. "That _verdammt Goldwasser_! I've missed my train!" She banged her head against the pillow, frustrated at how her one chance for escape had drowned in a glass of liquor.

"There's always another train to Danzig, _Liebling_," Prussia said. "And really, a nice Polish girl cursing like a trooper." He clucked disapprovingly.

"I learned it from you," she muttered. She shook her head, as her helplessness began to grow. "Why did you do this to me?"

Prussia shrugged. "You were going to run away and I wouldn't have that. Especially after your scene, that letter, and what you did to me last night."

She stared at him, confounded. "What did I do to you last night? " As he studied her, she began to realize what he meant. "_Ach nein_, you can't blame me for _that! _ I was _nice to _you! I was willing! It's not my fault you can't—"

"Don't say another word," he growled, clapping his hand over her mouth; it smelled like tobacco and soap. She tried to sink her teeth into his palm, but he pressed down harder, mashing her lips against her teeth. "I'm going to gag you, _Hexe_, if you don't behave yourself."2 He had covered her nose, and soon she couldn't breathe. "Will you be good?" He demanded. She nodded and he removed his hand.

Adeladja gasped for air. She followed his eyes and noted he was watching her breasts heave, a little smirk on his face. _You're disgusting_, she thought to herself. She slowed her breathing to normal. He turned back to her face, still smirking. "Would you like to breathe easier, _Schätzchen?"_ She glowered at him, but as he began to undo the busk's clasps, she tried to rock her body away from him.

Prussia leaped onto the bed, straddled her and finished undoing the corset. Adeladja watched its sides unfurl and fall to the side, the boning and dark fabric reminding her of bat's wings. Dead bats, she thought. She sank back, watching his hands run along her outstretched arms, through her loosened hair and brush against her chest.

"Why all this?" She whispered, nodding towards the stockings tying her to the bedposts. He looked amused.

"Isn't it obvious?" He replied. "Between the running away, the bites, kicks and slaps, you're a very dangerous young lady. Now that you've gotten your health back, I can't trust you to behave yourself." He leaned forward, propping himself on his elbows, his face hovering above hers. "You know what they do at the state stud in Trakehnen at breeding time? They hobble the mares to keep them from harming those valuable stallions." He shrugged and grinned. "I'm just protecting myself, _kleines Stutfohlen."_3

Adeladja worked up some saliva to spit at him, but he grabbed her throat. "Don't even think of it." His playful tone had disappeared. "Now listen to me. We're going to finish what we started last night. If you behave, we can have a pleasant time together; if you don't, I'm still going to enjoy myself. So it's up to you, Adeladja, whether you suffer or not." His fingers squeezed slightly and he looked expectantly at her.

_Of course,_ Adeladja thought bitterly, it was always her fault, her responsibility. This was just a harsher version of what he had told her on the pier yesterday. She was captive, she realized; he had lied to everyone at the hotel about their marital status, he had done something to yesterday's drink, and now she was tied down like a pig about to be gutted. She was tired and her mind couldn't come up with any more options. She closed her eyes and muttered, "Do what you have to do and get it over with." She steeled herself for the burst of pain she expected from his forced entrance into her.

Prussia's fingers lingered on her throat. "You don't set the rules, Fraulein. You're not going to run to others crying that that brute Prussia tore you apart." He made her look at him. His red-violet eyes narrowed as he leered, "Besides, you're not such an innocent maiden. Remember Sanssouci?" He licked his lips and Adeladja shuddered. Anything she had done out of kindness or self-protection was thrown back in her face. She exhaled, sinking into the bed. "You win," she whispered.

Prussia's mouth slowly widened into a smile. "Smart girl," he said. He moved his hand to stroke her cheek and hair. She closed her eyes, holding the tears back. _Let him have his fun_, she thought. She would distance her true self away from her body, especially since there was no temptation of pleasure or possibility to turn the tables. She felt his fingers trace her eyebrows, jawline, and lips. She knew how this went: the lure of gentleness pulling her in, and then the reveal of his true nature when it was too late for her to escape. She wasn't going to be tricked this time, she thought as she imagined herself back in her house on Long Street, reading one of her books by the bedroom window.

His lips brushed hers, and she turned her head away. She knew the kisses always did her in. His fingers ran through her hair and pulled her back to face him. "No kisses, _Liebling_?" Prussia teased. "You know who also doesn't like to kiss?" His lips traced her ear. "Prostitutes. Is that what you are, Adeladja?" His hand tugged sharply, sending little spikes of pain into her scalp and causing her eyes to open. "Do you _really _want me to treat you like a whore I bought for the night?"

She wished she had the energy and courage to tell him yes, that he could drop the role of lover and be the brute he was. But she was helpless, exhausted, and all her bravery had disappeared with her escape plan. She shook her head, screwed her eyes shut and offered him her mouth. _The same approach as always_, she thought as his lips teased hers apart. She focused on lying still, teeth closed until he squeezed her jaw open with his long fingers. She would make him work for everything, she decided, as he swirled his tongue around hers, trying to tease it into life. Maybe he would get bored and go away.

His lips moved down her neck and along her shoulders. _And now we're on to the next stage_ , a bored voice sighed. _Next stop, piersi._4Adeladja smiled inwardly, pleased with this distant observer and her commentary in her head. Sure enough, his hand had pushed down her chemise and was stroking and pressing one already. _Men_, her inner observer sniffed, _so predictable. _She agreed and tried to imagine having this conversation with her new friend in her parlor on Long Street, laughing at male simplicity over tea and _pierniczki._5

"Nnngh!" Her reverie was interrupted by a sharp pain running from her shoulder. Adeladja opened her eyes and saw Prussia smirking at her, teeth fixed in the muscle of her upper shoulder. She glared at him and he laughed without releasing his hold. He winked as he ran his tongue along the skin and then sucked at the spot. He slid his mouth back up to hers, teeth scraping along the delicate skin of her neck, a reminder of what he could do to her.

"That got your attention, didn't it, _Liebste_?"6 He hovered over her, teasing at her lips with little bites. "You like pain, Adeladja?" He pinched the nipple he had been stroking and she gasped and glared again. "It does add a certain _spice_ to things, doesn't it?"

"Please don't," she murmured.

"Then you need to stay awake, _Frauleinchen."_7His garnet eyes bore into hers as he raked his fingers through her hair and tilted her head upward, her throat exposed like one for the knife. "Now kiss me like you did last night."

Adeladja obeyed, feeling her throat tighten and tears crest under her closed eyelids. Her clever observer had nothing to say; she would have no peace, no escape from his full attention. The tears streaked down the side of her face into her hairline. She cringed when she felt his tongue lick them up. _Bóze,_ she thought, just do it and leave me alone!

Prussia sighed in her ear and stroked her hair with one hand, while the other toyed with her breast. Adeladja could feel her nipple stiffening and tingling under her fingers. _Stop_,she commanded, but her flesh ignored her. _"Schätzchen,"_ he whispered, "you said the sweetest thing to me earlier today, just before you fell asleep. Do you remember it?"

Adeladja shook her head. Caught again, she thought in despair. Unguarded attempts at kindness, polite acknowledgments of gratitude, confused mumblings under the influence: all used against her, shutting like doors behind her as he forced her into a tiny room with nothing but him.

"You asked me to forgive you and Feliks for the past." He brushed his nose against her cheek and rested his lips against her neck. "You showed compassion," he continued. Soft little kisses down her neck to her collarbone. "I'll gladly forgive you, _moją dziewczynę kochanie, _but you must be sweet and willing, ja?"8

Adeladja wondered if they were opening negotiations. When he looked up at her with bright red eyes, she asked, "And in return?"

Prussia looked confused for a second and then he narrowed his eyes knowingly. "In return, I forgive you, _just like I said." _

Adeladja was about to ask what "forgiveness" entailed and what would happen if she refused, but she gasped as his mouth closed down on her nipple and his tongue circled it. _Well, I guess this conversation's over;_ she was relieved her cynical friend had returned. She shifted as he sucked at her while he kneaded the other breast. She could feel a warmth fluttering in her stomach and traveling up to her breasts; she concentrated on how tired her arms felt, the strain on her muscles, anything to keep from feeling the other sensations. She glanced down at his head, at how the silver blond hair fell into his closed eyes as he nursed and kneaded away. Like a demon child, she thought, curling her lip, an evil kitten. She couldn't believe that only last night she had been willing to stroke his hair and smile down at him when he had done the same thing; now she wished her arms were free so she could grab the hated _Goldwasser _bottle off the night stand and bring it down on his skull.

"If I stroke your hair," she whispered, "would that count as 'sweet and willing'?" He looked up at her and she smiled and gently waved her right hand, the one near the night stand. "Would you like that?"

For a moment, she thought he was going to agree; she could see from the glint in his eye that it appealed to him. But then the glint turned hard. "Nein_, Liebling_, I don't trust you," he whispered, keeping his eyes on her face as he trailed kisses from one breast to the other.

Adeladja stifled a groan as her head slumped back on the pillow. _He's going to suck you dry_, the observer warned. She needed to distract herself from the waves of warmth that threatened to loosen her body away from her control. She recalled her city's streets, their Polish and German names, the way they crossed or divulged from each other, who lived where and which trades ruled which lanes. She tried to remember the name and face of each Hanseatic member's personification, their dominant characteristics: Lübeck, golden-haired, motherly; Thorn, strawberry blond with freckles, shy but smiling; Elbing, a brunette with green eyes and a wicked sense of humor; Friesland, an ash-blond youth with green eyes, who faded away into the Kingdom of the Netherlands; Marienburg, white-blonde with violet eyes, quiet as a snake, Teutonic Order's sister—

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrripppp! _ The sound and gust of air on her belly startled her into the present. Prussia sat astride her, torn edges of her chemise in his hands. He shrugged and smirked at her shock. "I wanted a better view," he said as he dropped the cloth and ran his hands up and down her exposed rib cage and stomach. "So soft and smooth," he whispered as he stroked her. He undid his shirt and pulled it off, revealing pale skin crisscrossed with silver and pink scars. She could see his muscles move under his skin; he'd make a nice statue, she thought. At least no one would fear those limbs and that cruel, clever mind if he were only marble. She could also see his erection pushing against the cloth of his trousers; _disgusting creature,_ the observer sneered. She agreed.

He rubbed his hair and cheek where her stomach curved inward between her ribs and hips, and sighed. _Now this would have been a good time to ask,_ the observer told her. _Too bad you already made that move._ Adeladja kept watching Prussia stroke her sides and breasts, his eyes glazing over with some distant look she had rarely seen in him. If only she could free her right hand and grab the liqueur bottle!

She returned to her roll call of the Hanseatic League. Bremen, stolid blue-eyed blond; Hamburg, darker blond with hazel eyes, just as stolid; Malmo, tall beautiful girl with golden hair and golden skin—who else belonged to Sweden? She struggled to recall…

And then she felt his fingers rubbing her again, and she didn't know whether to gasp in surprise or let the observer speak for her. _Same old trick_, she sighed, shaking her head. Adeladja blinked and shut her eyes; she didn't need to see the first step of her violation. She could certainly feel it; she kept forcing her mind to scold her body: _Stop _it, she commanded, _stop it! _She tried recalling the prices of wheat, rye, wool, and linen, anything to stop the warmth from spreading throughout her pelvis.

"Now that's a good girl," Prussia whispered so softly that she could almost fool herself into thinking someone else was speaking to her. She remembered the rebellion and siege she had fought against Feliks, and the handsome, wild-haired young man who had tossed pebbles at her window one night. He had come from Denmark to let her know his King had agreed to support her mortals with a blockade. He _was_ Denmark, blond hair cresting like a rooster's comb, clear blue eyes looking up at her, wheedling for a kiss, and she had teased him with one on his cheek. "I want a real one," he had pouted, and she had promised one when they had succeeded. But sadly, they hadn't. Maybe if she pretended it was Denmark doing this to her, she could bear it, even forgive her body for its disobedience. She closed her eyes and sighed as the warmth fluttered up her torso. _Mmmmm, Denmark, _the observer agreed_, now that's a fine nation for you. He wouldn't need stockings to keep you in his bed._

Adeladja felt hungry lips part hers, a warm tongue twine with hers. _Ahhh, Denmark, _ she thought, but when she gazed through half-closed lids, she only saw Prussia, her enemy and captor. Last night she had thought he was handsome, but now she only saw the hard angles of his cheekbones and nose, the moon-pale skin, the centuries of smirks, insults and contempt. She had to remind herself that _Prussia _was the source of the pleasure she felt, in order to dull it. But her body ignored her.

She felt his lips slide down her neck (_again_, the observer sighed), tease each breast (_again_, the observer noted) and trail down her stomach (_Well, that's new_, the observer noted). His free hand followed and squeezed her behind. Two fingers were inside her now, sliding in and out, pressing against the front of her. _Stop it_, she wanted to cry and kick her legs, _stop making me feel this way. _ She felt as if her body were melting, her leg and arm sockets yielding and spreading, preparing her for the final assault. _You've got a voice_, the observer said. She was growing bored, even contemptuous. _I'm sorry,_ Adeladja told her, _I'm trying, but_—

_MMmmppff!_ She felt something warm and wet swirling around that button. She blinked and looked down. She could see Prussia's head between her legs and she realized he was kissing her _down there_. He was using his lips and tongue as if that were her own mouth. _Men, I told you they were disgusting, _the observer said, and Adeladja nodded fervently, overwhelmed .

Adeladja whimpered as her hips arched so Prussia's tongue could reach her better. _Stop it, _she begged her body, _stop it! _She tried to force herself to stay still, but her body had become a runaway horse, deaf to her commands. She looked down and saw him watching her as he redoubled his efforts with his mouth and fingers. _Stop him, you Schlampfe!_ Cried the observer. Adeladja couldn't hear her anymore; she could see Prussia's lips curve upwards in a smile, his deep burgundy eyes, and she could feel a rush of energy in her lower stomach push her along. The horse charged into the unknown, chasing the horizon, and just at the moment when she realized she was going too far, and there was nothing beneath her—

"_Pozwalany udaje się,_9_" _ he whispered, eyes glowing red-violet between her legs, and she did. She didn't know what to expect: a crash, madness, drowning in a sea off a cliff. She felt as if she were caught in an undertow, each wave spreading her open to an intense feeling she had never experienced before. She cried out, feeling herself tighten around his fingers with each breath. Tears came to her eyes as she gasped. _This is wrong, this isn't how it was supposed to be!_

The observer left the room, clutching her skirts as if she were walking along a filthy street. _You disgust me_, she said. Adeladja watched her disappear, begging her to return. _I didn't mean it,_ she pled,_ he tricked me. _She shook her head in shame: how could she have felt this without her permission?

Before she could take another breath, Prussia's lips met her own. They tasted of musk, celery, and salt. "That's what you taste like_, Liebling_," he whispered. Adeladja wanted to vomit. She felt base and whorish; even a whore could have controlled herself better, she thought in despair.

She watched him undo his trousers and drawers. She had seen this before, but now it was going to be the final act. She watched him stroke himself and ease down between her thighs. She felt him slide himself up and down her wet entrance, and then he pushed in. _Bóze_, it hurt, as if someone were trying to force a wooden baton into her. She whimpered and twisted at the burning, tearing pain as she clenched her muscles.

"Stop fighting me," Prussia hissed, circling his fingers around her throat. "Just breathe and relax." Adealadja closed her eyes and shook her head. Only when he pushed harder and the pain increased, did she finally give up and follow his instructions. It still hurt, but she could bear it; she had to.

She felt a breath brush her cheek. When she looked up, she saw Prussia staring at her. "So beautiful." He seemed to have a hard time speaking. "So _gemütlich."_10He began thrusting in and out of her, biting at her chin, ears, and neck with a hot open mouth. Adeladja closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch. She begged the observer to return, so she could hear her snide comments and drown out the vile sounds of flesh thumping against flesh, his panting and groans, her own sighs and forced whimpers from the impact. But the observer was gone for good. Adeladja gave up; she had no allies to urge her to resist. She was tired, her arms ached, her inner thighs strained from being spread and now she had to bear _his _weight. If moving with him made things more bearable, she would.

At one point he stopped and she could feel his body pull away from hers. _Dobrze_, she thought, he's done.11 But he was still inside her, teasing with little pulses that made her want to slap him. "Say my name," he whispered.

"_Preußen_," she muttered.

He thrust hard into her and she gasped at the impact. "No, _my name_." Back to the little pulses just inside her, making her grit her teeth and try to stifle the little squeak of pleasure scurrying up her body.

"Gilbert," she sighed and he slid into her, panting harder and burying his face into her hair and neck. As he thrust away, she kept her eyes screwed shut and tried drowning out the noises of their bodies with songs she remembered. But they seemed to rattle loose out of her mind, and she was trapped, begging him silently to finish, when he drove in to the hilt and gasped,"Oh oh oh!" He braced against her, and then finally, he sank onto her body, breathing deeply.

Adeladja lay there, defeated. Prussia rested on top of her, sighing contentedly, his sharp nose nuzzling her neck. She could feel him within her, throbbing into stillness. She had been besieged before, but she had always avoided having it enacted on her body. Now, she realized, she had fallen, more thoroughly than she had in 1734 or 1793.12

It didn't matter that he stroked her hair and kissed her neck and cheek, telling her how good she felt. After he slipped out of her, he undid one arm and gently folded it over to tie to the other. Then he untied the matching leg and tied her ankles together. Stunned, Adeladja shifted to lying on her side, arms and legs trussed and tied to the bed's front and rear bedposts on the left. Prussia curled up behind her, his body lining up with hers like spoons stacked in the drawer of her sideboard in her dining room on Long Street. When she heard his sighs turn to small snores, she finally sobbed herself to sleep.

**So what do you think of Prussia's plan and Adeladja's experience? I like to hear from all of you and thanks for coming so far.**

1 Polish: Merry Christmas!

2 German: witch

3 German: little filly

4 Polish: the breasts

5 Polish: gingerbread cookies

6 German: sweetheart

7 German: missy

8 Polish: my darling girl

9 Polish: Let go

10 German: snug, cozy

11 Polish: Good

12 1734-During the War of the Polish Succession, Russia and France, allies of the King of Saxony, laid siege to Danzig and were victorious. 1793-the Third Partition of Poland, when Prussia finally took over the city of Danzig.


	27. Chapter 27 A Train to Danzig

**A Train to Danzig**

**A long chapter from Gilbert's point-of-view. Warning for references to sexual activity.**

The new train line between Zopot and Danzig made it easier for the city's citizens to reach the seaside resort. That Friday, many more people were arriving than leaving, but among the departures for Danzig were Herr Bielschmidt and his wife. Obviously a newly married couple finishing their honeymoon: he couldn't keep his proud eyes off of her. She was demure and submissive, maybe even a little fragile; her steps were dainty and short. The other passengers for the city train noted the young man's unusual coloring and the young woman's unusual silence as he directed the porters to take their trunks and bring him the papers from Danzig, Berlin and Potsdam. The _piece de resistance_ was when passengers were finally allowed to board, and to the admiration and envy of other couples, Herr Bielschmidt scooped up his lovely girl bridal-style and carried her up the steps and into the passenger car. Only the most cynical and astute might have noted something was hampering Frau Bielschmidt's ability to climb the steps.

* * *

Whoever had said _once subdued, always subdued_ had not dealt with personifications, especially Polish ones, Gilbert thought. Ja, she had finally surrendered to him that night; he had seen her eyes shift from surprise to resentment to that moment when a certain light went out, when she had realized there was no escape. He had always liked that look in an opponent's face; even when their body was still attacking or parrying, he saw that the they were just going through the motions, they knew just like he did that they were defeated. Only _verdammt_ Poland had never lost that light in his angry emerald eyes, even beaten out of an official existence. So why should his sister, the spoiled, proud Danzig be any different? One night was not going to do it. He would have to keep putting the light out until he had extinguished it permanently.

He had taken advantage of her bondage and their positions in the bed to enter her the following morning. She had not complained or struggled, but that was to be expected. The real challenges would come when he would have to untie her. Gilbert pulled the cord that signaled the help, and when the chamber maid arrived, he told her he wanted hot water and towels for washing. When she returned with them, he cleaned himself off, shaved, and changed. Then he went back to the bed and gently washed Danzig's face. He noted that she didn't look as pretty as she did a day ago; her eyes and nose were red and puffy. _We'll get her out for a walk near the water and that should cheer her up_, he thought, as he untied one arm and began to wipe it down.

"I can wash myself," she muttered. Gilbert shrugged. "I know," he said. "But I like doing it."

She craned her head back to look at him, puzzled. He smiled as he untied her leg and pulled off her stocking so he could clean her foot. "_Why?"_

"I just do," he replied. He reminded her that he had started as a field hospital for wounded crusaders in the Holy Land, and he found that as long as he told her what he remembered of that time (it wasn't much, but he could elaborate on the fragments), she listened and didn't fight as he washed her. He untied her and when she sat up, he noted with dismay that the stockings had left red raw marks on her wrists. _She'd have to wear gloves outside_, he thought.

He watched her dress and even offered to help; she scowled and shook her head. Still, when he came to help her with the corset laces, she didn't pull away; she even mumbled "_Danke_," when he tied them off for her. At that point, Gilbert couldn't resist; he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his nose in her loose hair. He inhaled the scent of musk, ambergris and ocean air. All he wanted was to feel her stiff body relax against him, her hands to rest upon his and squeeze back in affection , not to freeze against her sides. Time, he told himself, but he also knew he wasn't always the most patient of entities.

"I need to finish if we are going to eat breakfast," she finally said and he let her go, watching her twist sections of her amber-colored hair into mysterious loops and knots that set off her profile. She finished dressing and they went down to the dining room. Gilbert noted how eagerly she drank her tea and asked for water; she seemed more interested in liquids than food. He didn't know what he could do with the information right now, but he filed it away in his mind.

Two more days before they returned to Potsdam, he thought to himself, as they strolled along the pier. She couldn't be completely tamed during that time, but he would have to make significant progress. Her gray eyes were cloudy and obscure—he didn't see the resignation he had glimpsed there last night. Of course, he thought, that cunning Polish female mind was working, trying to spin a plot that would defy him. But he could spin plots too, and he was already wondering how he could get her ready for tonight.

He still had some laudanum left, but he hesitated about using it. He didn't want her to love opium more than him. Yet if he could get just enough in her to make her weak and sleepy, he could tie her up again. He couldn't expect her to behave herself at this stage; he could only be so trusting and gentle before he'd be vulnerable to attacks. He also couldn't let her out of his sight, he realized. She had demonstrated she was willing to run away, and he couldn't let her have any opportunity for that again. He knew that if he could get her back to Potsdam, her urge to flee would diminish; it was just a matter of making sure she couldn't slip away in the next two days.

They came to the end of the pier and she leaned against it, watching the waves and seagulls. He studied her fine profile, the way she shaded her eyes with one gloved hand. She stared intently, as if she expected a ship to appear on the horizon at any moment. But no ship was going to come for her, he thought. She was on land, _his _land, and here she would stay.

"Adeladja, it's getting hot out here and we have an errand to run in town." She turned and squinted at him. Gilbert pulled out a receipt and waved it at her. She looked puzzled until he dangled it before her eyes. He smirked at how her confusion changed to embarrassment. It was the receipt from the store where she had sold some of her jewelry; he had found it when he had undressed her the day before. "Let's go, _Liebling_," he said, and he took her hand and led her on their way.

Later, at lunch in the hotel dining room, he noted how much water and tea she drank. If only he could trust her enough to let her go to the ladies' room! Then he could add a couple of drops of laudanum. But he could only imagine her locking herself in or finding a way to sneak out. He noted how uncomfortable she was growing as he mused about current political developments. His mind kept working on a plan even as his mouth moved.

In the hotel room, he rang the bell for a bottle of mineral water and a glass. Danzig sat by the window, looking out at the beach and waves. Gilbert settled down at the desk with the newspaper, a cigar, and the water. He poured himself a glass, smoked, read, and sipped. He noted how her gaze slowly shifted from the window to the bottle of Bad Driburger water on the desk. _Kesesese,_ my little filly is thirsty! He smirked behind the paper.

He put down the paper and took a long draft of water. He sighed, satisfied. It wasn't beer, but it was good water, and he was laying a trap, not seeking refreshment. He noted out of the corner of his eyes how Danzig shifted in her seat, eyes trained on his glass and bottle. He ruffled his paper. "Would you like some,_ Liebling_?"

_"Nein, danke_." She tilted her chin and looked out the window. Silly, proud creature, he thought. He offered to ring the chamber maid for tea, but she refused that also. Fine, he thought, he would have to be patient. Time crawled and he was almost ready to howl in impatience; soon, he'd have to take her out and do something—a concert, a dance, another _verdammt_ stroll on the pier—anything to get out of the chair and the room.

And then she came to the desk and stood before him, hands clasped before her like a schoolgirl's. "I'd like a drink of water,_ bitte_." He liked how softly and humbly she spoke. Gilbert smiled and reached for the bell cord. "I'll get you a glass,_ Liebling._"

Danzig's eyes narrowed. "_Nein, nein,_ don't bother the maid. I'll drink from yours." Her hand reached for it and he stopped it. "Nein, really. You should have your own glass," he said.

He noted the little flash of lightning in her gray eyes. "I don't need it. I'll drink from yours or even the bottle. Really, you shouldn't go to such trouble hunting down a glass for a little sip of water."

Gilbert's mind switched from his original to his backup plan. He stood up and loomed over Danzig, forcing her to edge back from the table. He rested his hands on her hips. "Hmmm," he said, "you want water and I want something." He scanned her eyes and he could see that she understood what he wanted. "Shall we open negotiations?"

For the first time that day, he actually saw a spark of interest in her eyes. Of course, he thought, a trade city would enjoy haggling over a contract.

"No restraints, no physical harm, no insulting terms. I sit in your lap and kiss you—no tongue—for five minutes," she stated, blushing, "in exchange for your glass of water."

Gilbert laughed. This was actually going to be amusing. "That's not enough for a sip, _Fraulein! _" He squeezed her waist. "Sit on my lap, kisses—_with_ tongue—for a minimum of ten minutes, _jemandst mir einen blasen,"—_she gasped—two positions of my choosing, and a lot of enthusiastic movement and sounds."1 He smirked. "Then you may have the water."

She stepped back, chin in the air. "I don't need it, after all." She tried to turn away and go back to her chair, but he held on.

"I can still take what I want, Adeladja," he whispered in her ear.

She looked up at him. "Ja, you can take it," she acknowledged. "But whether you get what you really desire is debatable, _Mein Herr Preußen." _She stared at him coolly.

Gilbert studied her. The light had not gone out of her eyes after all. He laughed, let her go and sat back at the table. He poured another glass of water and raised it to her. "_Prost, Liebling_!" He called as she returned to her chair. He drank noisily, smacked his lips and poured another glass. Danzig stared out the window. He hid his rancor behind cigar smoke and the newspaper. Let her win a skirmish, he told himself, he would win the war.

The rest of the day went reasonably well. They dressed for the evening concert, strolled along the pier, and ate dinner. That is, _he _ate dinner, while Danzig drank glass after glass of water. In the hotel room, she asked not to be tied up, but he shook his head. "I don't trust you, Adeladja," he repeated.

"What do you think I'm going to do to you?" She slumped on the bed, studying her feet.

"Grab the key and sneak out. Attack me in my sleep." Gilbert paused. He realized that he didn't want to put any ideas in her head. "It's for your own good, _Liebling_. It keeps you honest."

The little spark of life that had flickered earlier that day now disappeared. She put her face in her hands. He almost felt sorry for her, watching her struggle to control herself.

He sat next to her and patted her thigh. "_Liebling_, you've broken my trust. You need to earn it back. I've been honest and kept my word with you." He figured she didn't need to know that it was only in the little things.

"What did you put in the _Goldwasser?"_ she asked. "It's never affected me that way before."

Gilbert laughed. "Goodness, Adeladja, I did nothing! You were very upset and I'm sure on an empty stomach, it can affect even the most hardened _pijak._"2 She still looked suspicious, but he kept repeating that she must have been very nervous and busy planning her escape, and she finally admitted she had had very little to eat yesterday. He noted that he had to do something about hiding the bottle of laudanum.

She struggled a little when he tied her hands to the bedpost, but he told her he would leave her legs free. He figured he could control them and keep her from kicking him or clamping them together. She was still and sullen, but he soon fixed that when he placed her ankles on his shoulders and leaned forward to thrust deep in her. She twisted and cried out, whether in pleasure or pain, he didn't know or even care at that stage. What did matter was that she was fully there, glaring at him as they moved faster and faster, yowling like a cat, and gasping when they were finished. He liked that when he kissed her afterwards, she tried to bite him and he had to grab her chin and warn her to behave. "I like to bite too," he teased, "and there's not much you can hide from me, when you're like _this_, _Mädchen." _ He forced her thighs down and apart and let her realize how vulnerable she was, as his eyes traveled all over her body. He snapped his teeth at one of her nipples and laughed when she cringed.

"See, Adeladja," he added as he tied her ankles together with her stocking. "This is why I can't trust you."He undid her right hand and bound it to her left. The fight had gone out of her now; she turned her head to the side, looking at her bound hands as if they were the most interesting thing in the room. "I try to be nice to you, try to liven things up, and you try to attack me." He lay down next to her and caressed her cheek and side. Now that she had been subdued, he could be tender. "I don't want to do these things to you, but you bring them on yourself," he sighed. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, her closed eyes, her delicate ears and long neck. Such a beautiful girl, he thought; why did she have to be such a stupid, stubborn Pollack? "Be a good little soldier, _Schätzchen," _he whispered. "Your duty's not that hard and it will go easier for you if you just do it." He nestled against her, gathering her stiff body in his arms and losing himself in the intoxicating scent of her hair.

The next morning, after he had had his way with her, he told her he would grant her a favor. "I want to bathe in the ocean one more time and wash my hair," she muttered, and he agreed to it. He figured he could bribe an attendant at the ladies' bath house to spy on her.

Gilbert found a spot on the pier where he could watch the sea bathers. He watched Danzig emerge from one of the bathing machines, bobbing in the water past the cresting waves. He studied how unafraid she was as she floated and rode along the waves. _Mein_ _Gott_, she was beautiful, he thought, something catching in his throat. How at ease she seemed in the ocean, how she smiled at other bathers, at the water itself; it was the first time since he had forced the issue that he had seen her look other than blank or sullen. But it was the unguarded happiness on her face as she laughed at what one fellow female bather said as they chatted that made him uneasy. _He _wanted that smile and laughter directed towards _him_.

Gilbert checked his watch. The hour he had given her was almost up. He had warned that there would be consequences if she did not return promptly, and he had told the attendant that if Frau Bielschmidt refused to come in at a certain time, she was supposed to get attendants from the male bath house to fetch her. Fortunately, Danzig swam back obediently to the bathing machine, which took her back to the bath house. _Gut_, he thought to himself as he strolled down the pier, she has learned _something_. He got a beer and fanned himself with his hat in the shade. He knew she was having a final bath and washing her hair. She would need to sit out for a while, a sunshade protecting her face as her hair dried in the sun. That would take another hour, he thought, and it didn't include putting her hair up before she left. He had an idea.

He went to the ladies' bath house and asked if Frau Bielschmidt was dressed and ready to leave. His spy said that she was still drying her hair. He asked her to bring him to where she was. The mortal led him to the porch, where Danzig sat as a maid combed her hair.

When she saw him, he paused. In some ways, she looked as she had two days ago, but now there was no pretty expression of confusion. She watched him warily, body visibly tense. The guarded blue-gray eyes saddened him; he wanted to sit next to her and ask her what he could do or say to make her happy to see him, to smile and laugh with the same ease and delight he had glimpsed before. But then he set his jaw. He was _das Königreich Preußen_, the genius of the German Empire, a great power. And what was she? A mere city, one of _his_ cities! _She _ should be the one studying how to please him. His fists curled and he was about to march over and demand to know why she looked so scared, until he caught himself. _Ruhe, junger Bursche_; he heard the voice of the Great Elector in his head, the shrewd mortal who had negotiated his freedom from Poland.3 They were the words he had used to curb Gilbert's elation and contempt for Feliks until after he was free of vassaldom. He took a few deep breaths and walked over to where Danzig and the attendant waited for him.

"May I?" He looked at the comb the attendant held. Danzig opened her mouth to speak, but he shot her a warning glance. The maid offered the comb to him and curtseyed as she retreated. He pulled a chair over and sat down next to Danzig. She looked away from him, out to the sea. He could feel her tremble as he took a section of hair. _Mein Gott_, I'm not going to beat you, he thought irritably, and then he recalled how he had treated her roughly last night and he could actually understand her wariness. She would have to be an idiot to trust him, he realized, and he knew he couldn't tolerate idiots.

He combed as gently as he could, trying to think of something to say, something that would break through the dark cloud that hung over her. "I saw you enjoy your swim," he finally said. "How was the water compared to last time?"

"The same," she muttered, refusing to look at him.

"That's good, _Liebling_," he replied. He felt as if he were making conversation with a stranger, not someone he had just lain with this morning. "You know, there are lakes at Potsdam. If you enjoy swimming, we could do that there. Would you like that?"

She shrugged. Gilbert pursed his lips and continued. "I know it's not the same as the ocean, but on a hot summer day, it could be pleasant." Silence. "Hannover could accompany us, so it would be very respectable, if that concerns you."

"Of course."

Gilbert paused at the undercurrent in her voice, comb in the air. "What do you mean by that?" He could feel his temper start to burn. "Do you mean, 'of course, it would be respectable and desirable' or 'of course, that would concern me'?"

"It means 'of course' Mein Herr." Her voice was cold and dead. "It means 'of course, Hannover, one of_ your_ provinces, would accompany me.'"

Gilbert didn't like the sound of that. He returned to combing a new section of hair, pulling a little harder. "Of course she would," he replied, keeping his voice as business-like as he could, "You can't be the only female swimming in the company of males."

"And of course, you wouldn't let me swim alone, would you, Mein Herr." Danzig finally turned to face him. Her eyes were no longer like the ocean, but as dark and hard as slate.

Gilbert stared back at her. "Nein, I wouldn't," he replied. Her gaze bore into him, making his head ache. He returned to studying her hair as he combed. "I rather enjoy watching you swim, _Liebling_. You are so graceful and playful in the water, like a _Wasser Sprite_, and—"

"Please don't." She turned away from him. He stopped, shocked and a little angry that she had cut him off. He placed a hand on her shoulder and felt her heave. He waited for another shudder, a sob, so that he could at least feel some kindness towards her.

But none came. Only a couple of twitches, as if she were preparing herself for an assault. For a second, he wanted to shake her and hiss, _I'll give you something to cry about_, but he remembered they were in a public place, and mortals would come running if she made any protests. He loosened his grip and petted her shoulder.

"Please don't _wat, _Adeladja?" He waited. "Look at me, Adeladja. Please don't _wat?_"4 When she didn't turn, he took her chin and made her crane back to look at him. To his surprise, her eyes were dry, but the slate seemed sharpened.

"Please don't call me those names," she whispered. He looked at her, stunned. "_Liebling, Schatz, kochanie."_She spat the last word out as if it were a bitter-tasting food. "We both know you don't mean them."

Gilbert froze, hurt. Then he forced himself to laugh. "Oh, but I do, _**Liebling**_**.**_" _He emphasized the last word and saw a spark flare in her eyes. He released her chin and she turned back to watch the sun sparkle on the waves. Gilbert continued combing. "We are going to go to Potsdam and we are going to have a good summer there," he said, more to himself than her. "The bridge has been crossed and burned, _kochanie_, and _I_, for one, intend to enjoy the new territory." He felt her tense under his touch. He tapped her lightly on the back with the comb. "And if you have any sense, you will also. Behave yourself and you will reap the benefits."

"What benefits?" Her voice was hard, a slate arrow tip into his heart. Gilbert glowered. _Steel is stronger than slate_, he reminded himself.

"My kindness and generosity." He gritted his teeth to keep his voice calm. "You do your part by playing nicely, pet, and you will see that I am a very forgiving, good-natured sort of fellow." His anger subsided as he thought of the summer ahead. She can't be angry too long, he thought. Even a fool would see it was to her advantage to adjust to her present situation, and Danzig wasn't a fool. But she was Polish, and her stubbornness had to be removed by whatever means.

"You forced yourself on me," Danzig whispered. Now when she turned to face him, he saw her eyes were red and tear-filled. "You forced yourself on me, you tied me up, you—"

"I had to protect myself," he said coldly. He studied the hair drying in his hand, the gold, red, and brown catching the sunlight. "I told you that before. But now it's over. Besides that, I was gentle to you." He remembered his past violent fantasies and contrasted that with how he had worked to please her; he could have just plunged right in, but he didn't. And when he realized that she had climaxed, a dirty little thrill had run through his body. She could hate him all she wanted, he decided, but her body had liked what he had done to her. "You think I don't want you to be happy, Adeladja, but I do."

She looked at him as if he had just told her something ridiculous, like the sun was made of yellow cheese. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, to his amusement, but the terrible gray gaze never changed. Finally, she turned away from him.

Gilbert continued combing, pleased that she couldn't respond to him. He saw her shoulders heave and thought it was her controlling her rage. But when he heard the sob and saw her wipe her eyes, his triumph turned sour. He wanted her to be sensible and practical, to see that there was nothing to mourn for, and only further pleasure and rewards to gain. Most of all, he wanted her to stop looking so miserable.

Danzig wept silently, occasionally patting her face with her hand to blot her tears. _Stop it, bitte,_ Gilbert wanted to say. He didn't know whether to shake her or embrace her. He stopped combing her hair and studied his hands. He could have been crueler to her, he told himself, imagining how he could have beaten and wrestled her into submission. He had been as kind as could be expected. So what if he had given her a little push over the final obstacle? It could have been worse. Why didn't she realize that? Why wouldn't she stop crying?

_Mein Gott, _ he thought, the silent weeping was unbearable. He would have preferred bawling and sniveling; even some insults and accusations would have given him something to react to. But her misery wrapped her like a dense cloud and he felt as distant from her as if he were staring at her from afar. _It's all gone wrong_, he thought as he turned the comb over and over in his hands. He had hoped to replay the pleasant conversation of a few days ago, and it was all off, like a badly acted play.

_Something _ had to appease her. Gilbert had an idea. He took another section of hair and began combing. He paused. "Adeladja," he said, "Would you like to visit your sister in Vienna for Christmas?"

"I would like many things, Mein Herr, but I know that I won't get them." Danzig had regained control of her voice and body, sounding as still and dead as the sea on a windless day.

"Ah, but you will get this, Adeladja. I promise you, we'll go to Vienna for Christmas. Austria and Hungary are Catholics, but they do Christmas very well. We'll see your sister and you'll get to talk and laugh, play music and walk together. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Ja, I would like that very much." Was that a quaver in her voice? She turned to face him again, but her eyes were cast downward. "And what would this trip cost, Mein Herr?"

"Ach, Adeladja, don't worry about that! I'll handle the money! I'll buy you splendid new dresses, furs and jewelry, and the train fare is—"

"What will it cost _me,_ Mein Herr?" She still looked down at her lap. "What do you expect from me in return."

He tilted her chin up to face him. "Just be sweet,_ Liebling_." He shrugged and smiled.

When she looked back at him, her eyes were a flat gray. "And what does it mean, 'to be sweet'?**"**

Gilbert would have called her stupid, if he did not know otherwise. The sadness in her eyes made him look down at his hands. "You know," he muttered, "Just don't cause trouble. Be kind and sweet and willing, and you'll see your sister in Vienna." He looked up at her. "Can you do that? Would that make you happy?"

He expected her to smile, or at least her eyes to come alive with gratitude. But they remained still and unreadable**. **"Ja, that would make me very happy, Mein Herr."

"Gilbert, Adeladja. Call me Gilbert." He was tired of the groveling, formal address he had demanded of her.

"Ja, Gilbert, that would give me something to look forward to." She said his name as if she were trying out a new word—so different from how she had murmured it only a few days ago.

"Gut. You do your part and I will do mine, ja?" He busied himself with her hair so she wouldn't see his disappointment, but she had turned back to study the sea again. They had a little over five months, he told himself, five months for her to overcome her hurt pride and learn to love him.

They had their final stroll, dinner and concert that evening. The trunks were almost completely packed, just waiting for the final change of clothes. Gilbert had arranged for a carriage to take them to the station after breakfast. Now was their last night in Zopot. "Time for bed_, Liebling_," he said as he took off his coat and undid his tie and collar. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Danzig remove her jewelry and unbutton her bodice. The lamp light cast her shadow on the wall; it was wavering. He saw her hands were shaking as she began to unhook her skirt fastenings.

"Do you need some help?" He came over to help her with removing her bustle and corset.

"Nein, I can do it." She was trembling all over.

"Are you ill?" He regretted how abrupt he sounded. She shook her head, not looking at him. He started to feel irritated again, wondering why she was shivering like a beaten dog.

"If you're unwell," he said as gently as he could, "you need to breathe, so let me unlace your corset for you." She nodded, turning her back to him so he could loosen the laces. She undid the busk and sat down on the bed, unpinning her hair and shaking it loose over her shoulders.

Gilbert studied her. She looked very young with her hair down and in a simple chemise. She stared at her hands in her lap, her stocking feet rubbing against each other. He wanted to see her face. "Look at me, Adeladja," he whispered.

When she finally did, he saw tears running down her cheeks. He bit his lip. _Mein Gott, _the _verdammt _tears again! He wanted to snap at her to stop crying, but he realized that wasn't going to work. _I've been nice to you,_ he thought, _I let you swim, I combed your hair, I offered you a visit to your sister. What are you so upset about?_

He walked over to the bed and sat next to her. She didn't jump or try to move away; she sat there, resigned and trembling. "Why are you crying?" He asked.

"Please don't tie me up," she whispered. "I can't—I can't stand it. I'll be good." She sounded like a child. "I promise I'll be good."

Gilbert felt a flicker of triumph as she wept. _How the proud, haughty Danzig has fallen!_ And then he recalled how free and happy she had been in the ocean, how pleasant and kind she had been on the bath house porch a few days ago, and he felt terrible. She looked so abject, he almost wanted to apologize for what he had done to her. But he couldn't do that.

He rested his hand on hers, trying to quiet them. "You promise to behave, to be sweet and willing? No trickery?" She nodded, sniffing. "Then I won't bind you tonight." She exhaled so deeply, he thought she was going to faint. He put his other arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. "Shh, _Liebling_, shh." He held and rocked her as she finally gained control over herself.

When he kissed her, he tasted salt on her cheeks and lips. She didn't resist as he leaned her backwards and ran his hands up and down her body. He kissed her neck, knowing that that usually seduced her. He could feel her body relax and her breathing slow down. He would be gentle, he decided, and as long as she behaved, everything would go well. Maybe she wasn't as eager as he would have liked, but at least she had stopped crying and sulking; he was happy when she tentatively put her arms around him.

When he guided her hand to stroke him, she complied. _"Dobrą dziewczyną,"_ he murmured, as he began to fondle her.5 _Mein Gott, _it seemed to take forever to get her ready, but at least she was trying. _A good little soldier, _he thought as she opened her legs for him and he eased into her. She moved obediently and smoothly with him, even making little noises that sounded like she was enjoying it. When he came in her, she cried out and dug her fingers into his shoulders. He kissed her lips, cheeks and neck to reward her for as he gathered his breath. Later, he rolled on his back and coaxed her to rest her head on his chest as he played with strands of her hair. Her eyes were closed, and he murmured, "_Bardzo dobry, trochę kochanie."_6 When he sensed the tension in her face and body melt, he felt a real happiness, a hope that things would get better between them with time. He heard her breathing grow slow and regular and he finally permitted himself to sleep.

* * *

"Adeladja," Gilbert sighed for what seemed the umpteenth time that morning_. "_I need to know that you won't be tempted to run off while we wait for the train to Potsdam." She looked down at him, brow furrowed as if she could barely understand him. "I'm sorry,_Liebling_, but I don't quite trust you."

She began, "But I promised you—"

He shook his head, cutting her off. "That was last night, and you were very good. But today is different, with different circumstances." He fastened the leather belt around her ankles, noting there was enough distance to let her walk a little. He stood up and held out his hand to her. She took it and he helped her stand up from the bed. "Now come along, the carriage will be here shortly." He had to shorten his own strides to accommodate her, but it was worth it for the security of knowing she couldn't make any quick movements without falling flat on her face. At one time, that image might have amused him, but as she hobbled besides him, head down and eyes veiled, he only felt solicitous. He didn't want her to run away, but he didn't want her to humiliate herself.

The ride from Zopot to Danzig was quick and smooth. As they mingled with mortals at the train station that would take them to Berlin and finally to Potsdam, he kept her on his arm, studying her as they waited to board their train. She was seeing a glimpse of her city and its visitors and inhabitants. Some of these mortals were coming back from business, family or pleasure trips, all looking forward to heading back to their own lodgings and beds. They would wake up the next day in familiar surroundings, eager to eat familiar food and get back into their lives as _Danzigers._ And she, the spirit of this busy, wealthy, worldly Baltic port city, would head further south, inland, as his.

He expected tears, maybe a toss of the head and a defiant flash of storm-gray eyes. Maybe an argument that would enliven the train ride, with a pleasant penance waiting for her to perform at the end. But she stared at the station's architecture and crowds with all the indifference of a stranger. When he scooped her up and deposited her in her velvet seat, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back. He sat next to her, noting that there were only a few mortals riding in the back of the car. His hand inched over towards hers to place it in his lap. Maybe she really was subdued, after all.

Danzig startled as he began to rub her hand against him. She withdrew it and looked at him, her anger and contempt slipping under an ivory mask. "Would you like me to read the paper to you, _Gilbert?"_ she asked. He smiled and said, "That would be lovely, _Schatz_." She unfolded the paper and began to read out loud the leading stories of the day, as he traced designs on her thigh.

**So what do you think of Gilbert's thought process and behavior in this chapter? Of Danzig's? How about that second bathhouse scene? I know this is a long chapter, but I love to hear from you guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

1 German: give me a blow job, go down on me

2 Polish: drunkard

3 German: Quiet, young fellow

4 Gilbert uses the Berlinism, "wat" instead of the standard German "was" for "what."

5 Polish: good girl

6 Polish: Very good, little sweetheart


	28. Chapter 28 Her Survival

**Her Survival**

**Warning for references to sexual activity**

Five months, Adeladja told herself. She had five months to be "sweet, kind and willing" to Prussia in order to see her sister. On sunny July mornings in her room in the Kaiser's summer palace at Potsdam, the time seemed manageable. She read and embroidered and thought about the receptions or picnics coming later that afternoon, and she knew she could do it. She could smile and make small talk with the other entities or mortals Prussia introduced her to. She could wear the appropriate clothes for whatever occasion, use the correct manners and say the right things. She had met the Kaiser and his wife, and had been impressed by his courtesy and her sharp intelligence. She could laugh and say witticisms at dinners, and see Prussia beaming at her out of the corner of her eye. She could do this for five more months, she thought, and then she could go to Vienna, see Krakow and Hungary, and finally tell them the truth.

It was the evenings that made her anxious. The last nights at Zopot had been a confusion of numbness and disbelief. She had felt too stunned to fight back, convinced it was all an awful dream. But all she had to do was hear Prussia panting in her ear, feel him surging into her as he dug his fingers into her hips, and she had realized it was not a nightmare. She could not wake up and make it go away. As the dinner parties or receptions wound down at Potsdam, her stomach heaved and her mouth grew dry. Soon, the others would leave and Prussia would take her arm and lead her back to his bedroom.

_Remember_, she told herself as she undressed before him, _five more months. _She only had to act her part that much longer, and then she could tell her sister and their friend how he had drugged, bound, and violated her. She imagined Elizabeta's green eyes flashing with indignation, Elena's filling with tears of compassion. Hungary would tell Austria, and the two would confront Prussia for his treatment of her. Maybe they would take her in, she hoped as she removed her jewelry and let down her hair. Then she would be safe, united with her sister, and everyone would know what a cunning monster Prussia was.

And there he would be, sprawled on his bed, smiling as she walked towards him. _Be willing_, she repeated as she lay down next to him. She stiffened her muscles to keep from flinching as he stroked her. _Be sweet_, she warned herself as his mouth loomed over hers. She longed to bite or slap him, but she knew that would cost her the only route to safety. So she would be sweet and kind, and willing to suffer any indignity he demanded of her.

She didn't complain about the various positions he arranged her in. In fact, she preferred the ones where she didn't have to look at him. Then she could bury her face into the pillows and scream her helplessness and rage into the goosedown as he pumped away at her. She hoped he would take them for cries of ecstasy, so she could say to him, _See, Mein Herr? I have been sweet, kind and willing._ If he later noted the tears drying on her face, she told him that she had been overcome with passion. That seemed to please him and he would hold and caress her. She knew she was supposed to feel safe and loved when he did that, but all she could think was that this was the male who had abused her. She could feel his long, powerful fingers wrapping around her flesh and she felt trapped. _Five more months of this_, she thought wearily as she drifted into sleep. _Five more months and I can be free of this._

There were evenings when he did not summon her and Adeladja could relax. The straightjacket now felt like armor, protecting her from his expectations and her desire to claw and scrub her shame from her body. She obediently lay on her back in her bed, sweating under the canvas. There was no ocean breeze at Potsdam, only stillness, and the stewards closed the windows because the doctors claimed the night air was unhealthy. So she lay, stifled, damp, alone with herself. Memories of Zopot's final nights flashed in her head and she would feel the tears trail down her temples and cheeks. She would tremble until she reminded herself that she was alone, strapped in the heavy jacket, safe from Prussia's affection that night. Only then could she stop crying and fall asleep.

Sometimes when she was embroidering, she pricked a finger and drew blood. At first this annoyed her, but one day as she watched the red swell on her fingertip, she felt a strange relief. Tentatively, she took the needle and deliberately drew it across her forearm. The scratch burned but not enough. She pressed harder, until a little line of ruby beads emerged from her skin. Adeladja bit her lips at the pain, but she welcomed it. It hurt but seeing the blood well up felt freeing. It was everything she had kept inside, she thought, and now it was coming out. _Ja,_ she told herself, she was drawing out the ill humors, just like when doctors prescribed using leeches. If she bled, she would feel better. And for that afternoon, she did.

A couple of weeks after they came to Potsdam, Prussia gave her letters from Krakow and Poland. Her fingers shook as she tore into the envelopes and held the pages.

_Dearest sister,_

_ I am so relieved to hear that you are well. I was shocked when I heard the news that you had suffered an almost fatal attack of unconsciousness. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX When I received your letter from Sopot and read of your recovery, I was so relieved._1_ Hungary and Austria were also very happy and they graciously allowed me to have a thanksgiving mass said at St. Mary's Basilica_

_ I received a letter from Feliks, who is currently in Moscow as part of Russia's household. He is doing wellXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. The rest of his letter was heavily censored, so I could not make out much more, but I do know if you can tell him that you are now safe, healthy and in Potsdam, he will be relieved and eager to write you as Ivan allows. _

_ But enough, Adeladja, at least it sounds as if he is treating you decently. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_With all my love,_

_Elena Maria Łukasiewicz_

_Miasto Kraków_

Adeladja studied the handwriting. It looked like Elena's script, but the letter ended black ink with dense scratches from the pen made it impossible for her to decipher the last few lines. _It must have been censored_, she thought, darting a glance at Prussia. She had to assume that their letters were being read and gone over by the three empires' mortals in the post office or secret police, but she still wondered what had been hidden under the heavy bars of ink.

She then turned to Feliks's letter. As Elena's had hinted, it was postmarked from Moscow.

_Dearest sister,_

_I received word that you have been seriously ill, to the point of fading away permanently. IXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXI didn't perform my tasks very well; Ivan grew angry with me. Of course, he would not let me leave _

_So imagine my great relief when I received your letter from Sopot that you were recovering! I was so glad that I danced in joy; I was in the stables, and you should have seen how the horses startled and joined in XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_Your brother,_

_Feliks _

_Polska_

Again with the heavy dense pen scratches and black ink. But still, something bothered Adeladja about it. Her brother was a chatty correspondent and she imagined him venting his fear, frustration and disgust with Prussia in colorful ways. Maybe these were under the censor's marks or maybe Russia had reviewed the letter and edited it, just like Prussia did to hers. But still, it was his own distinctive writing, and a doodle of a little spitz dog capering in delight near his name was clearly his own touch. Adeladja smiled at the sketch and kissed it. At least, her brother and sibling had heard what had happened and they had shown they had cared in their own ways. But if only she could decipher what was under those bars!

"So they have not forgotten you after all, _Liebling_," Prussia mused as he leaned against her chair. Adeladja looked up at him, trying to keep her suspicion hidden. She had no reason to trust him now, she told herself. He could have had the letters censored to protect his reputation. Again, she longed to get away from him so she could study the letters under better light and try to figure out what the original words left by the pens' pressure were. But instead, she forced herself to smile, and soon found it was an easy thing to do. At least, Elena and Feliks knew she was alive and in Potsdam.

"Ja, Mein Herr, and I would like to write them in return." She liked to see him wince when she used the formal address with him.

"I will let you do so, under one condition," he replied. His hand traveled down her shoulder to one of her breasts and gently squeezed it. She tried to hide her shudder from him. Prussia stared outside the window, studying the greenery. A few bees floated heavily by, as if drunk with the heat or the nectar they had taken from the summer flowers. "The afternoon is such a lazy, dull time here," he murmured. "Surely you and I could use a nice nap in bed, ja?" He looked down at her and winked. "Well, we might have to do something first to earn that rest, kesesese."

Adeladja felt her heart sink as she gazed down at the letters in her lap. Try as she might, she couldn't avoid seeing Prussia's long thin fingers kneading her breast. _Be kind, sweet and willing_, she warned herself as she felt shame and rage welling up in her chest. She choked them down and forced herself to smile at him. "Ja, we'll rest and then I will answer these letters. After our…."She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. _Our duty, our burden, our debt, our penance._

"Gut!" Prussia kissed her on the top of her head and then scooped her bridal-style out of the chair. He carried her down the hallway and up the stairs to his room in Babelsberg Palace.2 Adeladja already started to imagine herself somewhere else: a litter carried by servants through the streets of Krakow, going to see her brother and sister at the palace. She saw the heavy velvet curtains, pillows and cushioned platform instead of Prussia's bed. As he undressed her, she lay there with eyes closed, seeing herself finishing some embroidery in the covered litter as she heard the sounds of Polish street cries.

When she felt Prussia lie down next to her and began kissing her, she told herself _you are there, not here_. The body Prussia undressed and caressed didn't belong to her. It was someone else's, an immodest stranger in another room or townhouse across from her bedroom and parlor in Long Street. She imagined herself there, scanning her bookshelf for a German or Polish translation of a French or English novel to read. She could see the tan, burgundy and black leather bindings, the gold titles; she could feel the spines, flip the thick pages. She could see the young couple across the street, the silver-blond man entering the still young woman, and feel some pity for her and annoyance that neither of them thought of shuttering their windows.

Adeladja saw herself sitting down to read Mme d'Arblay's _The Wanderer, _caught up in the adventures of a young woman disguised as a Creole in order to escape the Reign of Terror3. She marveled at the ways the characters' dialog revealed their selfishness, suspicions and squeamishness at the heroine's dark-stained skin. The story overtook her mind as she imagined herself on a small boat bound for England and safety across the foggy English Channel, seeing and hearing the various characters as they debated about the wandering Creole.

"Look at me," someone whispered. The young woman in the bedroom, the one Adeladja was trying not to watch, obediently opened her eyes. She looked past Prussia's ear and shoulder, studying the bed hangings and ceiling. She would play a game, she decided, and try to see images or patterns in the wavering surface of the plaster as the afternoon light traveled through the room. She could almost see the boat in the novel now, the huddled suspicious English citizens eyeing the disguised heroine, as the—

"_Look. At. Me." _Prussia's voice hissed and he braced himself on one elbow and grabbed Adeladja's chin to make her gaze directly into his eyes. The book's boat overturned, the characters were lost at sea. Adeladja tried to see something other than Prussia's red-violet irises, but his face was so close to her, she could see his pores. She didn't want to look, but she stared until his irises grew abstract, a collection of rays and flecks creating a pattern like a kaleidoscope. She imagined herself now in Warsaw, chatting with Feliks as he proudly showed off a cabinet of marvelous discoveries and toys, including a kaleidoscope. She was there with him, admiring the way the shifting beads and colored glass created intricate patterns simply from turning the wooden tube; she was not the young woman pinned under the man whose sweat coated her stomach and chest.

Finally it was over. Prussia sighed and sank down upon her, resting his head next to hers. Adeladja pitied the poor girl, sweaty, hot, and bearing his weight. She was glad when he rolled off her and lay on his back.

"_Mein Gott_, it's hot," he muttered. He gathered the body that didn't belong to Adeladja closer to him and made her rest her head against his damp chest. Adeladja closed her eyes and tried to recall the next chapter of _The Wanderer_, the one where the boat of passengers land in England and the heroine agonizes over accepting money from the old Admiral to pay her fare and lodging bill. _How scrupulous one must be, _she thought to herself.

Soon, Prussia was snoring lightly. Adeladja tried to wiggle away from him, but his arm was heavy and he turned to draw her even closer to him. She recoiled at the rank scent of his body, the sticky feeling of his dried sweat against her skin. She longed to get up and wash herself, leave the room and study her siblings' letters and answer them. But Prussia mumbled, "_Ruhe, Liebling" _and clung to her4. She finally, grudgingly allowed herself to nap.

When she awoke, the late afternoon sun blazed into the room, turning the walls gold. Prussia was stroking her hair and shoulder, studying her. "So any nice dreams, _Schatz?_" He smirked at her. "We still have a few hours before dinner."

"It's so hot. I would like a bath," Adeladja murmured. She rolled away from him and began to put on her clothes. She felt Prussia's eyes follow her as she dressed herself. When she reached her room, she would summon a steward to bring a tub and draw her a bath of lukewarm water. It would be both cleansing and cooling, she decided. "It takes time to become presentable for dinner, and I will also need to write letters." She turned back to Prussia. He was still naked on the bed, his hand tracing where she had just been. "May I trouble you for some ink and paper? Gilbert?" She choked out his preferred name; anything to get the materials she needed.

He looked down at the tangled sheets as he pointed to a small neoclassical writing desk. "Take some. There's a half-full jar of ink on the second shelf. You can have it." His voice sounded tired. "Remember that I need to see those letters after you finish them."

"Of course." Adeladja took the ink bottle and a few sheets of stationery. She paused, feeling awkward. "Danke. Gilbert."

He said nothing, but shrugged. She closed the door and went downstairs to her rooms.

He left her alone that evening, to Adeladja's relief, but the next night when he led her to the bedroom, he was silent. He kissed her more roughly than before, groping her breasts and behind through her evening gown. Adeladja whimpered, trying to signal that she didn't like it, but he nudged her onto the bed and hastily undid her dress. She could feel panic rising in her chest as he straddled her, still kissing too hard for her comfort. When he turned her over on her elbows and knees, she struggled to get away, afraid of his mood. But he grasped her hips and entered her, causing her to gasp in surprise and pain. _This isn't typical, _ she thought, _he usually takes more time._

"Why are you doing this?" She cried.

"_Ruhe_," he panted. He moved hard and fast, shoving her face into the pillows as she grunted and gasped from the impact. She tried to gather her thoughts and get herself safe in Krakow, Warsaw, or her own home, but his body seemed to drive out all her memories, leaving her in this frightening, uncomfortable present.

He finished and rested on top of her. She could hear and feel his breath on her upper back. For a few seconds he gently stroked her shoulders and hair, and she hoped he would say something kind. Maybe he would explain why he was being so rough and selfish this time. But he withdrew, and rolled away from her. Adeladja turned to study him as he looked away into the darkness.

"You can go now," he finally said, facing the wall. She stared at him in disbelief.

"You can go now," Prussia repeated. Now he turned to look at her and his eyes were a dark, cool garnet. "That's what you want, ja? Just get it over with and get away from me as soon as you can?"

Adeladja felt hurt. He had told her that she wasn't his whore, but now he was treating her like one. She half-expected him to gesture towards his chest of drawers and say that she would find her payment there. But he kept looking at her with unreadable dark eyes. "Nein, mein—Gilbert. I don't want that," she finally said. Her panic had slowed down to dread.

"That's how you act," he said coldly. He frowned as he examined his nails. "Adeladja, I've been thinking about the trip to Vienna for Christmas." Her dread started to gather life and gnaw at her stomach. "I don't think we'll be going after all."

"Why?" She asked, the dread filling her stomach and making it flutter. "Has there been trouble with Austria?" She had a sinking feeling that she already knew the reason, but she needed to hear him say it.

"Nein. Because you haven't been keeping your side of the bargain, that's why." Prussia glanced over at her, serious and penetrating.

Adeladja stared back, her dread turning stronger, burrowing into her guts. She felt cold in the stifling, warm room. "But haven't I been what you said? Haven't I been kind and sweet to you in public and private? Have I ever resisted you since we have come to Postdam? I've been willing, I've never pushed you away or complained_._ Please, don't say that I haven't!" She hated how her voice rose and broke.

"You've been _polite._ You've been _tolerant_." He emphasized the words as if they were insults. "You act as if I am a mortal you have just met in public, and _here_," he swept his hand at the bed, "you act as if you would rather be anywhere else. _Mein Gott,_ if I had wanted that, I would have married you." She could hear the disgust in his voice. "'Kind, sweet and willing' means you _want _to be with me, you enjoy my company and what we do here. You haven't been doing that."

Adeladja felt as if she were sinking through the bed and into the ground. The room seemed to grow darker, even as she could see Prussia's pale body and dark, cold eyes boring into her. _Bóze,_ she thought in despair, there is no escape.

"I've tried being nice to you." Prussia's voice was still harsh, but there was a sadness to it. "I've tried to make it pleasant for you, but you just lie there, refusing to look at me or even act like you enjoy it. You'd make a terrible whore, Adeladja, because the good ones act like they love it, even if they feel nothing. Do you know why married mortal men have mistresses, Adeladja? It's because they have wives that act like you. They know whores are just actresses, and so they find women who actually do enjoy being with them. I'm not going to marry you, Adeladja; I'm not the marrying kind. You're supposed to be my _Nebenfrau._ You're supposed to want me."

_I don't want you_, she wanted to yell at him. She thought of how he had drugged and bound her at Zopot and tears came to her eyes. She didn't know what she could say that would fool or appease him.

Prussia sat up and edged closer to her. When he reached out to touch her face, she winced. The look in his eyes disturbed her. He no longer looked angry, but hurt. "See?" He said. "I just wanted to pet you, and you draw away like a beaten dog. That's not being kind and sweet. And it's certainly not willing." He withdrew his hand and studied her. She felt as if he could see everything within her. "So why should I take you to Vienna to see your sister if you aren't keeping up your end of the bargain?"

Adeladja felt caught. She knew that if she started to act kind and affectionate to him, he would always accuse her of insincerity, doing it only to see Elena. But if she didn't try, there would be no chance to see her sister and Hungary, to tell them the truth and get sympathy and safety. "So what do you want me to do, Mein Herr?" She finally asked.

"Stop with the 'Mein Herr,' for starters," he grumbled. "Unless, of course, you like to pretend you're a chambermaid being seduced by the family heir." He shrugged. "_That _could be fun, and if it would make you more enthusiastic, then so be it." He winked at her and she struggled to keep her face free of panic and disgust. He grew serious again. "But really, Adeladja, try harder. Just don't be courteous to me at receptions and dinners; be sweet and affectionate. And here, be responsive. Just don't lie there like a corpse." She began to say something, but he held up his hand. "Look, Adeladja, I know at first that you'll be acting, that you're doing it just to go to Vienna. But if you act like you enjoy being with me, then _I'll_ be more tender and affectionate with you. And after awhile, you'll actually start to feel those emotions towards me. You'll _want_ to be with me, because I'll be kind and thoughtful towards you. You understand me, ja?"

She nodded. She definitely understood. No more escape to Warsaw, Krakow , Gdansk or novels; no more simply lying there, letting him do what he wanted. He expected her to react, to pretend to enjoy her captivity and nightly invasions. She bit her lip until the blood came, relieved to feel some pain come out.

"Ja, I understand you. Gilbert." She felt as if she were surrendering when she said his name.

Finally, Prussia smiled at her. This time when he stroked her cheek, she forced herself to smile and stay still. "Gut," he whispered. "Now let's try this again and do it the right way."

The next morning, Adeladja willed herself to stay in his bed instead of bolting off. She made herself kiss and stroke him, tell him that she had enjoyed their second round. She had tried hard to make him think that with the right movement and sounds. And he had seemed pleased, calling her _kochanie_ and _gutes Mädchen_ as he had fondled her. When he finally told her that she needed to go back to her room to get ready for the day, she had kissed him and lied that she was looking forward to seeing him at the Empress's salon in the afternoon. And he had smiled, looking content. Only when she went back to her room, did she let herself weep as she washed herself, mingling her tears with the water. Then she stood as still as a dress form while the maids dressed and arranged her hair. She took up her embroidery needle and waited until they had retreated from her sitting room. She carefully pushed up her sleeve and scratched at her arm, relieved by the pain.

**So what do you think of Adeladja's strategies for coping with her time in Potsdam? How about her conversation with Prussia? And what do **_**you**_** think is going on with those letters? Was Prussia clever or foolish to give them to Adeladja? I love to hear what you think.**

**On another note: I'm going to Belgium for two weeks to visit a friend and see the sights! I'm very excited. But that means that I won't be updating "The Pet" or "The Cuckoo Bird" during that time. I will be going to Amsterdam and I plan to take pictures and notes to help get me ready for resuming "The Cuckoo Bird." I have the next chapter of "The Pet" ready, but you will all have to wait until after July 22 to read it. So I'm sorry to leave you with Adeladja in such a dark place, but things will get a little better for her in the next few chapters, I promise! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

1 Both Krakow and Poland use the Polish name for Zopot.

2 Babelsberg Palace was the summer residence of Kaiser Wilhelm I in Potsdam. It was built between 1832 and 1849 in the English Gothic style.

3 Frances Burney d'Arblay (1752-1840) was an English novelist who is often seen as an influence on Jane Austen. Her last novel, _The Wanderer, _appeared in 1814. Although most English writers and readers use "Burney" when discussing her, Adeladja would have known her work by her French married name.

4 German: quiet, darling.


	29. Chapter 29 Her Counselor

**Chapter 29 Her Counselor**

**Things are starting to look up for Adeladja...**

"Fraulein Danzig!" Adeladja turned away from her dressing-table mirror to see Prussia and Hannover standing in her doorway. She clutched at her robe to conceal her underpinnings as the maids curtseyed and drew away. Prussia was in the walking-about coat of a Prussian officer and Hannover was in a dark, sensible traveling suit.

Prussia strode over and kissed her hand, clicking his heels. He winked at the mortals smiling and blushing at his good manners. _If only they knew what he really was_, Adeladja thought. She forced herself to smile and look gracious, directing her gaze at Hannover in the doorway. The female nodded her head slightly.

"I am going to Königsberg to visit my sister for at least a week," Prussia announced. He waved Hannover over. "Fraulein Hannover has agreed to visit and keep you company in Potsdam. Of course, a visit from the United Kingdom was a little incentive." He smirked at the blushing German female. "I trust that you two will behave yourselves. No talking politics with the Crown Princess while I'm gone." He arched an eyebrow at Hannover, whose slight smile disappeared. "In the meantime, Fraulein, be good, finish that embroidery I asked for, and be a gracious hostess to Fraulein Hannover, ja?" He leaned in and kissed Adeladja on the lips, a bit longer than she thought proper. "I look forward to a happy reunion, Adeladja," he whispered. Then he drew up, bowed to the maids and Hannover, and swaggered off as Monika called, "Please send my greetings to Maria, Herr Preußen!" He waved a hand nonchalantly at her and left.

Adeladja turned to study Hannover. She knew what Prussia's conversation really meant: Monika was to be his spy and jail keeper, noting all she did or said to report back to Prussia. Yet the taller province seemed too independent and honest for such work. Still, she couldn't trust any of them, she thought. Even if they disliked Prussia, they still saw her as his city and Monika was as much under his rule as she.

Hannover drew over a chair and sat next to Adeladja as the maids resumed arranging her hair. "An embroidery project, Fraulein Danzig? What are you doing for Herr Preußen?"

"He wants me to do some decoration on his new nightshirt," Adeladja replied. A spirit of mischief seized her and she leaned over to whisper, "He wants me to embroider rabbits, cornflowers, and little yellow birds on the yoke."

To her delight, Hannover's pale blue eyes sparkled and she laughed. "Ach, men are ridiculous, aren't they?" she chuckled. "In public, it is all uniforms and medals, but in private they like the prettiest things. Lud—the German Empire likes me to make him dressing gowns out of patterned Chinese silk. The more flowery, the better!" When she smiled, Adeladja saw sweetness instead of contempt. "And Arthur Kirkland _likes_ to embroider. He's really quite splendid at it." Her smile grew wistful. "When we were in a personal union, I would make his suits and he would embroider them. He does lovely work; I still have some of the aprons and caps he made for me from the last century." She leaned over and patted Adeladja's arm. "He is coming over from England in two days and I am eager for you to renew your acquaintance with him. It shall be a nice diversion, ja?"

"Ja, it certainly shall." Adeladja thought about visiting with another entity, and she felt her happiness over freedom from Prussia increase. She smiled tentatively at Hannover.

Hannover shook her head at the maids who had brought over Adeladja's morning dress. "Herr Preußen wants me to take Fraulein Danzig's measurements for her winter wardrobe," she announced. She stood up and gestured for Adeladja to do the same. "Fraulein, you will need to take off your robe," she said as she pulled a measuring tape, calipers, pencil and notebook from her reticule. "This won't take long and the sooner we get it done, the sooner you will have your wardrobe for Berlin."

Adeladja did as she said. When she recalled the fresh scratches on her arm from yesterday, she panicked. It was easy to hide her scars from the maids and she healed as quickly as other personifications, but these scratches were still fresh and she worried over concealing them from Hannover's sharp eyes. She glued her arms to her side as Hannover measured her height, upper and lower bust, waist, hips and distance from her neck to lower back.

"Arm length, _bitte_," Monika said. Adeladja extended her unmarked arm and watched the German entity note and mark down the measurement. She then measured her bicep and forearm circumferences. "Other arm, _bitte," _she said, and Adeladja hesitated.

"Fraulein, I have noted that not even entities have the exact same measurements for their limbs, and the news from Paris is that sleeves will be very tight-fitting this winter," Hannover said gently. Her eyes bore into Adeladja's until she had to lower them. "_Bitte, _your other arm."

Adeladja extended her marked arm, trying to roll the fresh scratches away from Hannover's sharp gaze. The German entity noted the length, bicep circumference, and then wrapped the tape around her forearm. When she saw the scars, she turned to the maids and said, "You should prepare Fraulein Danzig's day dress." As the mortals moved away to get the bustle, dress and accessories, Hannover lowered her voice. "How did you get these scratches, Fraulein?" Her gaze was serious.

Adeladja licked her lips and thought. "A cat," she said.

Hannover continued to stare at her. "The Hohenzollerns don't keep cats," she said slowly. "Indeed, they have ordered their gamekeepers and groundsmen to shoot them on sight. How did you get one so close to scratch you?"

"I found one in the gardens and took it in," Adeladja lied. "A half-grown, half-wild kitten. That's why she scratched me."

"May I see the little one?"

Adeladja tried to withdraw her trembling arm, but Hannover held on, still studying her. "It escaped," she murmured. "It didn't like being in my room, and I knew Herr Preußen wouldn't approve, so I let it go and never said anything."

"And what did Herr Preußen say when he saw these marks? If you had told him about the cat, I am sure he wouldn't approve of it damaging your skin."

"He doesn't notice. I keep them hidden from him." Adeladja dropped her eyes, assuming she was safe. But Hannover gently tilted her chin so she had to look into her clear blue gaze. She looked as serious and intelligent as the German Empire, Adeladja thought.

"Fraulein," Hannover said softly. "I've been scratched by cats and their claws don't leave those kind of marks. _Bitte_, tell me the truth."

Adeladja stared back. She couldn't tell Hannover or anyone that she had deliberately dragged her embroidery needle so deeply into her skin. She didn't think anyone could understand how the physical pain made her shame and rage go away. Inflicting pain in order not to feel it? Who could possibly understand that?

"Herr Preußen bites his nails to the quick," Hannover whispered, "but there are other ways to make scratches, ja?"

Adeladja saw the door Hannover was opening for her. She could invent another lie that would make Prussia look like a cruel monster who enjoyed torturing her. Then Hannover could tell the Empire, Saxony, and others what she suffered under him. And Prussia would hear the lie and punish her for it. No chance of a trip to Vienna, she realized. Yet Monika looked so kind and worried, she wanted to tell her the truth. All her nights with Prussia made her tired of pretending.

"Sometimes when I am embroidering, I daydream," she whispered. "I think back to my past and my brother and sister. And I keep plying my needle, but I don't see where it is going. And then suddenly I remember I am in the present, and I look down, and…." She trailed off.

Hannover nodded. "And it goes off course," she finished. Adeladja nodded, relieved. "But if you concentrate on your embroidery as if it were the most important thing at that moment, you wouldn't need to lose yourself in the past, now would you?" Adeladja wanted to protest that if she didn't lose herself in the past, she would have to face her present, and it was unbearable. But she only nodded dumbly. Anything, she thought, to keep from admitting her present misery.

Suddenly Hannover bent down and kissed the scratches. Adeladja gasped; the touch of the other female's lips seemed to awaken her nerves and send them rushing into life. She wanted to break away and she wanted to cling to the German entity and beg her not to leave. But she stayed still, quivering as Hannover's lips left her skin.

"Fraulein Danzig," Hannover said as she looked into Adeladja's eyes. They were as pale blue as Venetian glass and as clear as a magnifying lens. "You have enough pain in your situation. Don't cause yourself more. Promise me you will stop and we will find other ways to make this bearable, ja?"

"Ja," Adeladja barely managed to whisper as the maids approached with her bustle and petticoats.

If Hannover were her jailor, Adeladja thought, she was a likable and easy one. The two entities walked about Sanssouci Park, played cards, chatted, and dined with the German Empire. After some beer or Rhenish wine and schnapps, the normally reserved Ludwig became flushed and talkative. He recalled the games and songs Hannover had taught him when he was little, and she reminisced about him as a serious little entity who loved the stuffed toys she had made him. Adeladja watched the two German personifications, marveling at how they could be twins. The Empire played the piano and she and Hannover sang duets, Monika's alto a perfect match to her mezzo-soprano.

On the second night, the Empire teased, "Your _Geliebter_ is coming tomorrow, Monika!" His blue eyes sparkled with drink and mischief. He turned to Adeladja. "All you will hear over the next few days is 'Arthur says this' and 'Arthur thinks that!'"

Hannover's sun-kissed face blushed. "Ach, Mein Herr, he is not my lover! He was my husband and is now only a good friend. We shall talk about the good times and visit with the Crown Princess, so she can hear about her family."

"Not one little _rendez-vous_?" The Empire winked at Adeladja. "Keep a close eye on them, Fraulein Danzig. My brother will be very upset if those two sneak off and talk policy or worse!"

"Mein Herr, I doubt that Fraulein Hannover would do such a thing," Adeladja murmured. She had noticed something strange about the province. She talked warmly about the United Kingdom, but she also worried about how the city of Königsberg was handling Prussia's visit. When she spoke about Maria, her voice dropped and face flushed. Adeladja remembered the kiss on her forearm and thought the two were connected. "Have you heard anything from Herr Preußen, Herr Deutschland?"

The Empire shrugged. "Just a wire letting me know he had arrived. I am very busy with Bismarck about the banking crisis." He sighed and looked like his usual serious self. "The Chancellor is not comfortable with internal economic affairs, but it needs to be addressed or many mortals will lose their money and positions." His mood dampened the gaiety of the dinner. He stood up, kissed the female personifications' hands and excused himself. "I need to look over the reports and figure _something_ out. _Gute Nacht, Damen._" He left the room.

Hannover turned to Adeladja. "It's still light out. Shall we walk, Fraulein?" Adeladja agreed and the two set out on a stroll around the gardens of Babelsberg Palace. Adeladja was happy to be out of the heavy-looking rooms and in the cooler air of the summer evening.

"Fraulein, may I tell you a story? I hope that it will be informative, but if it gets too boring or embarrassing, let me know." Hannover said. Adeladja nodded, and the German entity took a deep breath and began.

"When I first entered into a union with the United Kingdom, it was merely a political match. He was polite and respectful towards me, but nothing more. Then in 1745, Scotland and some of his mortals rose up to support the Young Pretender in his claim for the British throne. I was back in Europe, but Arthur summoned me, Hesse and our mortal troops to come over and help him. So I put on my dragoon uniform and joined him in battle. It was the Battle of Culloden, very bloody, but a great victory for Arthur. That evening in camp, we celebrated. Arthur drank a little too much and he decided that he would cement his triumph by consummating our union. I remember him staggering into my tent, demanding, "Wife, we shall be in true union tonight!" I told him that I was sore and tired, and he was too drunk. He insisted, put his hands on me, and I fought him off and put him in a wheelbarrow and brought him back to his tent." Hannover smiled and blushed. "Arthur does not handle his liquor as well as he thinks. He was a little angry with me, but soon got over it.

"Then in 1761, he approached me again. The new King, George III, had just married and he and his wife were crowned a fortnight later. While we were at the festivities, Arthur took my hand, got down on his knee and said, 'Madame, you are as wise and martial as Minerva, as chaste as Diana, as lovely as Venus. If you and I were to participate in the happiness of this evening, I promise you that I will be as passionate as Mars, as grateful as Pluto, and a good deal more loyal than Jupiter.' I was amused and flattered—who wouldn't be at such a declaration? And thus our union became more personal." Hannover blushed deeper. "In time, things became _very _agreeable between us, and it was with real sorrow that we were parted by our mortals in 1837." She turned to Adeladja expectantly.

Adeladja was puzzled. She wanted to tell Hannover that her situation was nothing like hers; she had not come to Berlin as an equal entity in a political alliance with Prussia, but as a replacement for her brother. She had not managed to fight off Prussia's advances as successfully as the German province had England's, and he had not treated her honorably. For a second, she felt resentful and envious at how Hannover had managed to turn her union into a happy one.

"The point of my story, Fraulein, is not to make you unhappy. Nor is it to give you hope. I know Herr Preußen too well for that. When I became his province, he thought he could subdue me, but he was mistaken. I may no longer wear the uniform, but I am a dragoon at heart. It took only a few blows and kicks to convince him that he could never bend me to his purposes. But my way may not be yours." Hannover looked back at her, serious and appraising. "I have taken the liberty of reading about your history, Fraulein, and it seems that you are not very successful at warfare. A besieged city usually falls." Adeladja cast her eyes on the ground; Hannover was right about that. "Yet, as a trade city, you have other skills than war. I am sure that if we were to go marketing together, you would be amused at how poorly I bargain, while I would envy how well you could handle the merchants and get good deals that I can only dream about. That is what you are good at, ja?" Adeladja looked back up at the taller entity and nodded. "So," Hannover continued, a little smile playing on her lips, "one must use one's strengths to get what one wants and to avoid what one dislikes. A battle is easy for me, but negotiations are not." She leaned in closer and squeezed Adeladja's arm; she could feel the strength in the other's hand race through her skin and flesh. "You do not have to surrender unconditionally to him. Use your strengths, Fraulein, and make whatever peace and happiness you can get yours."

Adeladja thought about her words. Prussia had already offered her the trip to Vienna if she behaved herself, but she felt as if he had defined all the terms unfairly to his advantage. Weather, transportation trouble, even a bad turn in relations with Austria could keep him from fulfilling his part of the bargain. She couldn't even trust him to keep his word; he could keep raising the standards for her behavior until it was impossible for her to meet them. She would have to do better, she vowed. The next negotiation would have to be to her advantage.

"Ja, Fraulein Hannover," she said, hope fluttering in her chest. She smiled back at the other personification. "I have forgotten myself for a while, and it was good of you to remind me of what I can do. May I tell _you_ a story?" Hannover nodded, and Adeladja told her about what had happened after she had left Zopot. She left nothing out; she was only telling the truth, she reasoned, and if Prussia did not want others to know that he could be deceptive and violent than he shouldn't do such things in the first place. She was pleased to see indignation, anger, contempt and even pity cross Hannover's face as she told of Prussia's trickery and treatment of her. At the end, the other female squeezed her arm and exclaimed, "Isn't it a terrible thing that you can tell me this and I am not shocked by Preußen's behavior? Of all the stupidest ways males can react to a setback!" She stared into the distance, her delicately square jaw working. "I would confront him myself, except I am afraid of the repercussions it would have for _you_, Fraulein. But this behavior _must _be addressed. It is dishonorable!"

"Do you think the Empire would be upset if he knew?" Adeladja asked. She felt hope growing stronger within her. "Do you think he would be able to intervene with Herr Preußen and let him know there are consequences to his actions?"

Her hope dwindled when she saw Hannover's troubled expression. "The Empire would be unhappy to hear the news," she answered. "Yet he is very grateful to Preußen for unifying and strengthening him. He still looks to him for advice and guidance, since he is young and inexperienced. I don't know if he can be of any help to you, Fraulein." Adeladja sighed; of course, she thought, she could not expect help from any German entity. Maybe Saxony, but what could he do?

"But, one can always help oneself, ja?" A mischievous look appeared in Hannover's eye. "Even a non-martial female entity can learn a few tricks to protect herself from outrages. Would you like me to teach you, Fraulein?"

Adeladja smiled back. Maybe there was hope, after all. "I would like that very much, Fraulein. Danke!" They continued walking along the path. "Of course," she sighed, "It's not very easy to kick in skirts like these."

Hannover shrugged. "One only needs a knee." The two entities laughed as they sauntered back to the palace.

**It's good to be back posting! I had a wonderful time visiting my friend KorosuKa in Belgium. I did an overnight trip to Amsterdam and got some useful material for "The Cuckoo Bird." I ate lots of awesome Belgian chocolate, waffles, frites and mussels, and drank a wide range of delicious Belgian beers. Netherland's sister can cook! But getting back to the story, what do you think of Adeladja's confiding in Hannover? A smart move or foolish one? Would a true Pole admit such a thing to another entity? How about Hannover's advice? I missed reading your reviews and your thoughtful comments and hope this chapter pleases and inspires you to review. And for my UK fan readers, I have only two words about next week's installment: Arthur. Kirkland.**


	30. Chapter 30 Her Diversions

**Her Diversions**

**I didn't mean this to be so long, but it's mostly conversation and poetry, so it shouldn't be so overwhelming to read. But here it is, readers, United Kingdom's first appearance in the story, as well as one of his (and mine) favorite Royal mortals, the Crown Princess Victoria, daughter of Queen Victoria, and wife of the future German Emperor Friedrich III. Some much-needed fluff (Fem!Germany and UK) and some bittersweetness as well.**

When Hannover came for her with the carriage the next day, Adeladja noticed how happy the usually stoic personification was. Her blue eyes sparkled and she was bouncing in her seat like an eager child. "Today, you shall meet the Crown Princess Victoria and renew your acquaintance with Arthur Kirkland!" Monika exclaimed. Her enthusiasm was infectious; by the time the carriage rolled to the entrance of the Neues Palais, Adeladja felt as if the dark, stifling rooms of Babelsberg had faded into a distant past. The gardens surrounding the Neues Palais were both artful and wild, and even the footman at the door seemed more courteous than coldly formal. As she followed Hannover into the drawing room, her heart raced. She had been able to speak English once, but it had been centuries since she had spoken it. She wondered if she would sound old-fashioned, or worse, childish.

Compared to Babelsberg, the large drawing room seemed full of light and air. Floral-patterned curtains were pulled from the open windows and a cross breeze cooled the room. The furniture was elegant but light-colored and comfortable-looking. She saw a parlor maid speaking to a slight young man as she put down a tea tray and curtseyed. When the man turned to face her and Hannover, Adeladja recognized England, now known as the United Kingdom. Arthur Kirkland might be dressed as a modern nineteenth-century gentleman, but he still had the gingery hair, large green eyes and dark bushy brows she remembered from the days they were trading partners in the Hanseatic League.

"Monika," he said warmly as he strode over and clasped Hannover's hands between his own. Adeladja noted how the taller entity blushed and grinned as he kissed both her cheeks. Then he turned to Adeladja and bowed. "Fraulein Danzig, it is my pleasure to see you again," he said in German. She offered her hand to him and to her surprise, he shook it instead of kissing it like a German led her to the tea table. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes. If you please," Adeladja replied in English. The moment she spoke, she realized how strangely she had pronounced the words; it certainly didn't sound the way it did when the United Kingdom had been speaking to the mortal servant.

Arthur seemed nonplussed as he poured a cup of tea. "Lemon or milk? Sugar?" He asked in German. Adeladja asked for lemon and sugar and he fixed the cup and handed it to her. "Do sit down, dear Danzig. And Monika," his voice grew warmer and more familiar, "I know how you like yours." He grinned at Hannover as he added a generous amount of milk to her cup. "Nursery style!"

Monika laughed. "Ach, Arthur, you always made it too strong to take otherwise!" She sat next to Adeladja and Arthur took the chair across from the sofa.

"A strong cup of tea strengthens the nerves and stimulates the mind, Monika." Arthur sipped and looked pleased. "I believe Kosciusko, Mickiewicz and Chopin would agree with me on that." He smiled kindly at Adeladja, who nodded.1

"Will the Crown Princess join us today?" Monika asked as Arthur passed around a plate of small cakes.

"Yes, but right now she is busy with her youngest," the United Kingdom replied. He turned to Adeladja. "I hope your brother and sister are in good health, Fraulein Danzig."

"They are well," Adeladja replied. She was feeling herself more at ease, since England chose to speak in German. "I recently wrote to them and I should receive an answer soon, that is, if Russia and Austria allow them to write."

"I'm sure Austria will allow it," Arthur said. He set his cup and saucer down, a small frown flitting across his face. "But Russia is not always so understanding or concerned with simple courtesies." When he looked up at Adeladja, his eyes were determined yet kind. "I and other nations were angered by Ivan's heavy-handedness towards your brother and his mortals, and I regret that we were unable to do anything to put a check on it. But you must know, Fraulein Danzig, that your brother does have friends and sympathizers who look forward to the day when Poland will once more join the nations."

"That is very kind of you to say," Adeladja replied. She looked down at her cup to hide her bitterness. England, France and some other nations had always said they admired Feliks's love of liberty and his last king's attempts to create a constitutional monarchy, but how many had backed up words with actions? France had, when his great master Napoleon had swept through Europe; she was always grateful for his affection towards her brother and his kindness in freeing her from Prussia and setting her up as an autonomous state. But since the revolutions of 1848, no one had done more than lip service. _They will be happy to see him return,_ she thought, _but none of them will raise a finger to bring it about._

Hannover broke the silence. "Arthur, have you brought any new novels from your mortals? I do miss them." Adeladja perked up at that. "My spoken English is rusty," she admitted, "but I have always enjoyed your literature." The United Kingdom beamed at her interest. "Shakespeare, Milton, Byron and Lord Tennyson, of course, but I find your novels engrossing."

"Indeed!" Arthur's fair skin turned rosy. "I am glad to hear it, Fraulein. Who are your favorites?"

"Dickens, of course. And Thackeray. The Bells' strange and wild works.2 And from the last century, I admire Richardson, Mrs. Radcliffe, and Mme D' Arblay." Adeladja thought of how she had last tried to use _The Wandere_r to remove herself from her present misery and grew sober. "They are full of wit and adventure, but more important, they engage the mind so fully that one lives with the characters, one wanders among the settings, and one can almost forget one's present existence living in a world made of words."

"Yes, one can." Arthur's voice grew soft. "A great novel not only diverts us from our present, but refreshes us, teaches us how to live, so that we may return to our world with fortitude and knowledge." When Adeladja looked up, she saw the kindness and sympathy in his normally sharp, bright eyes. "Shakespeare and Richardson, especially. Even France acknowledges their genius, and you know how much it takes Francis Bonnefoy to admit something like _that._" When the sadness and unspoken understanding in the air grew unbearable, he raised an eyebrow and poked Hannover's knee. "You, Fraulein, have a superior taste compared to Monika! She cared nothing for my poetry and only likes the racier, picaresque novels of Fielding and Smollett! Whenever I tried to recite some lines to her, she would cry, 'Ach, Arthur, what is with all this Dryden and Pope! I like a good story instead!' And yet, sing some broadside catch or soldiers' songs, and the old dragoon would come out!"

Hannover blushed, but Adeladja noted it was with amused embarrassment, not anger. "Ach, Arthur, that is not true! I like some of your poetry! I enjoy Chaucer."

"You enjoyed Chaucer, madame, because you thought it sounded German _and_ you only liked the bawdier rhymes. A true dragoon, madame, a true dragoon!" Arthur leaned over, a teasing smile on his face as Hannover blushed and stifled a giggle. Adeladja could only stare; she had never imagined she would see the earnest Monika seem so _girlish_.

The United Kingdom drew himself up, inhaled and began to recite, his mischievious green eyes glowing:

_Love is a thyng as any spirit free.__  
__Wommen, of kynde, desiren libertee,__  
__And nat to been constreyned as a thral;__  
__And so doon men, if I sooth seyen shal_3_._

He turned to Adeladja and added, "I learned that the hard way, at Culloden. But that's another story for another visit, preferably with sherry." Adeladja nodded, deciding that she would not let on what Hannover had confided to her about Arthur's drunken attempt to celebrate his victory with consummating their union.

Hannover's blue eyes shone and she replied:

_ But atte laste she, for his worthynesse,__  
__And namely for his meke obeysaunce,__  
__Hath swich a pitee caught of his penaunce__  
__That pryvely she fil of his accord__  
__To take hym for hir housbonde and hir lord,__  
__Of swich lordshipe as men han over hir wyves.__  
__And for to lede the moore in blisse hir lyves,__  
__Of his free wyl he swoor hire as a knyght__  
__That nevere in al his lyf he, day ne nyght,__  
__Ne sholde upon hym take no maistrie__  
__Agayn hir wyl, ne kithe hire jalousie,__  
__But hire obeye, and folwe hir wyl in al,__  
__As any lovere to his lady shal,__  
__Save that the name of soveraynetee,__  
__That wolde he have for shame of his degree._4

When England gazed at her in astonishment, she murmured, "You see, Arthur, I was paying attention when you recited poetry. And not just to the bawdy parts."

Arthur edged his chair closer to Monika, took her hand, and looked fondly at her. Then he said:

_Heere may men seen an humble, wys accord;__  
__Thus hath she take hir servant and hir lord -__  
__Servant in love, and lord in mariage.__  
__Thanne was he bothe in lordshipe and servage.__  
__Servage? Nay, but in lordshipe above,__  
__Sith he hath bothe his lady and his love;__  
__His lady, certes, and his wyf also,__  
__The which that lawe of love acordeth to._5

The two smiled at each other and Adeladja could see over a century of respect and affection shine in their eyes. She had understood the Middle English perfectly; it had been the language she had used when she and her mortals visited London to confer with England about trading rights and establishment of storehouses and merchants' quarters. Tears suddenly rose in her; _I could have had this,_ she thought with longing and grief. _ I could have had this with him, I was willing in Zopot, but then _he _ruined everything that night. _IfPrussia had joked, sulked, grumbled, or even wept about his failure, she would have been kind and reassuring towards him. But he had stalked off in a rage and decided to blame and punish her for what had happened. And instead of looking at him with the same warmth and understanding that England and Hannover shared, she could only force a mask of politeness on her face to hide her resentment. She blinked and turned away.

"Arthur, do you really it's appropriate to recite love poetry to one woman when another is in the room?" A woman asked in English. Her voice broke the spell and England jumped to his feet, blushing and bowing. Hannover looked over at Adeladja in apology and embarrassment, but Adeladja had turned to see who had spoken. A short, stout woman with light brown hair and pale blue eyes had entered the drawing room. Her simple day dress was well-tailored of high-quality imported cotton and she wore only a modest pearl necklace and earrings.

"Your Royal Highness, forgive me, but the glories of our literature—a parlor game of memory—Ch-Chaucer!" It was amusing to see the normally unflappable United Kingdom stammer as he bowed before the mortal woman. Hannover dipped into a low curtsey and Adeladja followed her lead. She now recognized the Crown Princess Victoria, who had visited her city in 1867 with her husband. Crown Prince Friedrich had delivered a speech condemning the recent censorship of opposition papers in Prussia there, and Adeladja remembered how kind the royal couple had been to her and her sympathetic mayor. She recalled, in particular, the calmness of the handsome Crown Prince because it had disturbed her. He had not seemed like a man who had had a relaxing visit, but a condemned man who had made peace with his fate. And his fate had been the antagonism of his own father and Bismarck, who had cunningly worked over the past several years to move him further and further from any meaningful role in government. She wondered if the Crown Princess would feel any resentment or unpleasant memories in seeing her.

"Your Royal Highness, may I present Miss Adeladja Łukasiewicz, the city of Danzig. She is here on official business on behalf of her brother, the former Kingdom of Poland." Arthur said in English, as he darted an anxious glance at Adeladja and Hannover, who nodded approvingly. _Well, that's a tactful way of putting it_, Adeladja thought.

"We have met before, Arthur," The Crown Princess replied in German. She took Adeladja's hands and raised her up. "We don't need to stand on ceremony here, Fraulein. This is my retreat away from the court's protocol." When she smiled, Adeladja felt relieved. There was no discomfort or coldness in the Princess's light blue eyes, just kindness. "Please, ladies, sit. Would you like Arthur to freshen your tea, Fraulein Danzig? You, Fraulein Hannover?" She took the offered cup and saucer from the United Kingdom as naturally as if she knew it would appear and sat down opposite from the female personifications.

"How is the little princess, Madame?" The United Kingdom asked in English. As the nation of her birth, he could enjoy the privilege of speaking to the Crown Princess without waiting for her to address him first.

"Mossy is so sweet and good, thank you," the Crown Princess replied in German. "If she wakes up from her nap in a good mood, I'll ask the nurse to bring her in for a visit. You may hold her if you like," she said to Hannover and Adelajda. "I find it such a comfort to hold and nurse a little one."

"Madame, you know how your mother worries about you sapping your strength with this insistence on such personal care of infants," Arthur replied in English. "One can find plenty of healthy German wet nurses, and Her Majesty would be more than delighted to send an English one over if—"

"Arthur." The Crown Prince interrupted him with a look. For a second, she no longer looked like a plain, well-to-do housewife, but the eldest child of one of Europe's greatest monarchs and a future German empress. "My mother means well, but I find it invigorating and calming to nurse my own infants. Especially after Sigi—" She lowered her head, and to Adeladja's surprise, Hannover leaned across the table and patted the princess's knee.6

"It is good that your Royal Highness is free to raise your children as you please," she said gently. "They will remember your love and care of them and rise up and call you blessed."

The Crown Princess smiled ruefully. "If only I had been allowed to do so with the first three," she said in English. She then turned to Adeladja, composing her face. "Fraulein Danzig," she said in German, " I'm surprised that Herr Preußen has not taken it upon himself to accompany you here for your first visit to me. He is usually so _careful_ about whom of his acquaintances I shall meet and under what circumstances." She and the United Kingdom exchanged knowing glances.

"He is in Königsberg, visiting his sister, and Fraulein Hannover graciously invited me to accompany her on her visit to you and the United Kingdom," Adeladja replied. She was grateful that the Princess was willing to speak German to her, so she would not sound like a simpleton or feel left out of the conversation. From Arthur's flustered expression, she could tell that English was the usual language in the Princess's retreat from the Prussian court.

"I am glad of it." The Princess smiled. "I will never forget the kindness and encouragement you and your mayor showed me and my husband when he took his stand against that terrible decree censoring the press. It was very important to both of us that he demonstrate that he had no liking nor involvement in such a policy, despite the cost."

"Indeed, Madame, it was a necessary gesture," Arthur spoke boldly in German. "A free press is one of the glories of _our_ nation, and to curtail it is to start a downward slope to an unconstitutional tyranny. Your mother and I would have supported further actions on your husband's part in upholding the constitution against Bismarck's attempts to destroy it; your sainted father must have looked down from heaven and applauded you and His Royal Highness's principled stand, your selfless desire to lead Prussia to a recognition of the rightness of a constitutional monarchy, a land ruled by law and not might. You have done your best with such a stubborn, arrogant—"

"Arthur, please!" The Crown Princess flashed her eyes at him and the nation gaped and then shut his mouth, blushing with embarrassment. "I know as well as you what kind of nation we are dealing with, but I am his now, as much as I am and ever shall be a free-born Englishwoman. I have tried since I was little more than a child to do my duty, to you, to my dear husband, my beloved papa, even to Prussia himself." As her face flushed and voice rose, Adeladja wished that she weren't witnessing such a tense moment. The Princess breathed deeply and then regained her composure. "We will talk of this later, Arthur. But for now, let us think of more pleasant topics and diversions." She turned and smiled brightly at a silent Monika and Adeladja.

"Would Your Royal Highness like to join us in cards?" Hannover suggested.

"No thank you, Monika. But the three of you may go ahead and play. I'll watch and maybe I shall even be moved to sketch you!" At this, the Crown Princess summoned a footman waiting near the door and asked him to bring her art materials. "It would give me pleasure to capture your likenesses."

As the parlor maid took away the tea service and a footman brought out a card table, the Crown Princess settled down with her lapdesk, sketchbook and pencils. Arthur shuffled the pack of cards and asked, "What will it be, ladies? I know Monika will ask for whist. Do you know the game, Fraulein?"

"No, I don't, but I would like to learn. And please, call me Adeladja."

"It's a trick-taking game for three, like _Klabberjass_. Do you know that?" Monika asked. Adeladja shook her head sadly. "It's not hard to learn, but a pleasant challenge to master," Hannover smiled. "Arthur and I will walk you through it."

The three personifications began to play. As Hannover explained the rules, Adeladja began to realize that it was similar to _Mizerka_ and she gained in confidence.7 Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Crown Princess glancing at them, then her sketchbook, busily making marks with her pencil. She longed for her own sketching materials and wondered how she could get some. She then recalled her conversation with Hannover, when Monika had urged her to use her bargaining skills to get what she wanted from Prussia and she almost forgot the game as she thought of how to approach such a negotiation.

"I have won the trick again!" Hannover laughed. Arthur lowered his heavy brows at her in mock dismay.

"I think the old dragoon is remembering her cheating strategies from her barracks days," he play-growled. He turned to Adeladja.

"Arthur, it is not very gentlemanly to accuse a lady of cheating," Monika pouted.

"Of course, my dear, I am just teasing you! I remember well how you love the rigors of the game." England winked, and Hannover blushed. He turned to Adeladja. "Whenever I am playing particularly well, she runs to Hoyle to see which rules I have broken."

"Finished!" The Crown Princess exclaimed. The three entities rose to gather around her chair to see the sketch. "Well, what do you think?"

Adeladja was prepared to make polite noises about the Princess's technical skill, since royal mortals expected praise for workmanlike productions. But as she studied the sketch, she could see that the Princess not only had had excellent training, but real talent. She had captured each personification's appearance well, but also something of their spirit and relationships. She could see the conspiratorial smiles and glances of an affectionate couple in England's and Hannover's expressions and poses. But it was the portrayal of herself that made her pause. There she was, solemnly bent over her cards, at a slight distance from the other entities. She could see the serious mouth, the downward turn of the eyelids, the rounded shoulders of a woman with private cares that couldn't be chased away with a game of cards. The Crown Princess had faithfully recorded her elegant clothes, straight nose and thick, well-styled hair, but she had also seen the sadness and loneliness she felt even on such a pleasant day.

"This is truly remarkable, Your Royal Highness," Adeladja murmured as she returned the sketch to the princess. "You not only have skill but a genius for capturing your subject's soul."

When the princess looked up at her, her eyes were sympathetic and knowing. "I have heard how artistically talented your whole family is, Fraulein Danzig, so I am very honored by your compliment," she said. "When I sketch someone's portrait, I try to look for something in the subject that I can recognize in myself. It gives me a greater understanding of what contributes to their outward appearance." She smiled but it was one of empathy rather than happiness or pride. "This is not an easy nation for women with any intelligence or interests beyond clothes and gossip," she whispered. "I have learned that, _am still_ learning it. A devoted, enlightened husband who respects one makes it bearable, but it is still not easy. And it can be very lonely." Her last words were barely audible.

"Ja, Your Royal Highness, it is." Adeladja nodded. Hannover and the United Kingdom stood about, pretending not to hear the conversation. "And very boring. I have not sketched in ages!"

At this, the Crown Princess brightened. "Then you must come back tomorrow, Fraulein Danzig. While Arthur and Monika quote Chaucer at each other, you and I shall sketch the little princess in the garden! She is just at the stage where she can lift her head and try to sit up. She shall look darling under the flowering bushes! Would you like that?"

"Your Royal Highness, I would like that very much!" Joy fluttered up in Adeladja's heart.

"Very well then! Sketching in the afternoon, then a nap, a change of clothes, and we shall have an early dinner outside. My mother-in-law would find our plans dreadfully early and dull, but they are what pleases me best." The princess stood up, and as if at an invisible signal, formality had returned to the drawing room. Arthur bowed, Monika and Adeladja curtseyed, and the Crown Princess nodded graciously towards them. "There is nothing like a pleasant, easy day with friends and family to make one eager for the arrival of the next morning, is there? I wish you a good afternoon, ladies. Arthur, come with me." She left with the United Kingdom, and Adeladja turned and smiled happily at Monika. She was grateful that the German personification had brought her here and that there was the promise of another day in the pleasant, brightly lit, airy palace and its charming garden. Another day without Prussia, she thought, another day with something enjoyable to do, with entities and mortals she actually liked.

**So what do you think of the Chaucer quotations and what they reveal about the past personal union of the United Kingdom and Hannover? What light do they shed on Adeladja's relationship with Prussia? And what do you think of Crown Princess Victoria? My research is based on two books about her: Hannah Pakula's biography, _An Uncommon Woman_ and John Van Der Kiste's _Dearest Vicky, Darling Fritz. _I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope to hear your reactions in reviews!**

1 Tadeusz Kosciuszko (1746-1817) Polish-Lithuanian patriot who fought in the American Revolution and led the 1794 Polish uprising against Imperial Russia, acknowledged everywhere as a hero and sincere believer in equality, freedom and the rights of human beings. Adam Mickiewicz (1796-1855)was a Polish writer and philosopher, author of _Pan Tadeusz_, the national poem of Poland and considered the last great epic poem in European literature. Frederic Chopin (1810-1849)-Polish composer, famous for his compositions for the piano.

2 Adeladja is using the pen names of Charlotte and Emily Brontë, who originally published _Jane Eyre_ and _Wuthering Heights_ under male pseudonyms.

3 The modern English translation of the Middle English is:  
Love is a thing free as any spirit.  
Women, by nature, desire liberty,  
And not to be constrained like a slave;  
And so do men, if I shall say the truth.

All quotations and translations of Chaucer come from the following site: sites. . edu/ ~chaucer /teachslf/ #TALE (I added spaces so this would appear on fanfiction. net).

4

Modern English translation:  
But at the last she, for his worthiness,  
And namely for his meek submission,  
Has taken such a pity on his suffering  
4That privately she agreed with him  
To take him for her husband and hir lord,  
Of such lordship as men have over their wives.  
And to lead the more blissfully their lives,  
Of his free will he swore her as a knight  
That never in all his life he, day or night,  
Should take upon himself any mastery  
Against her will, nor show her jealousy,  
But obey her, and follow her will in everything,  
As any lover to his lady should,  
Except for the appearance of sovereignty,  
Which he would have to avoid bringing shame on his status (of knighthood).

5  
5Here may men see a humble, wise accord;  
Thus has she taken her servant and her lord -  
Servant in love, and lord in marriage.  
Then was he both in lordship and servitude.  
Servitude? Nay, but in lordship above,  
Since he has both his lady and his love;  
His lady, certainly, and his wife also,  
The which accords to the law of love.

6

"Sigi" refers to Prince Sigismund (1864-66), the fourth child of Crown Prince Friedrich and Crown Princess Victoria. "Sigi" died of meningitis in 1866 and Victoria was devastated by his death.

7

A Polish trick-taking game for three players, similar to Whist.


	31. Chapter 31 His Travels

**Chapter 31 His Travels**

Gilbert rummaged through the large basket on the train seat beside him. He had packed a couple of smoked pheasants, a ham, a selection of smoked cheeses and sausages, tins of herring, pickles and preserves from the orchards at Potsdam. Maria was not much of a cook, and he often worried that his sister existed on tobacco, tea and schnapps. He had included some American, Cuban and Turkish tobacco in a little tin, as well as tea from Britain and Russia. Three trunks also travelled with him: one with his own things, another with the books and journals Maria liked to read, and a third with Danzig's wardrobe from the winter and spring. His _Nebenfrau_ couldn't wear last season's fashions at court, but these dresses and gowns from France's finest dressmaker—Worth of Paris—would set the fashion in Königsberg. He had made sure personally that the laundresses and cleaners at Babelsberg had gone over the clothes carefully for any stains or odors. If Maria had any questions about them, he knew exactly what to tell her.

Gilbert leaned back against the headrest, closed his eyes, and sighed. Maybe this visit would be different, he thought. He didn't expect a miracle; he didn't expect Maria to greet him with a wink and good-natured insult, like she had in the past. He certainly didn't expect her to embrace him and whisper, "It's good to see you, Gil. I'm so sorry for how I have been. I forgive you now. Will you forgive _me?"_ But this year could be different, because things were different with _him_. He didn't have to try so hard for her acceptance, he didn't need her as much. He could bear her sarcasm and coldness, because she wasn't the only female in his life anymore. He had Danzig, his card up his sleeve, and the moment Maria thought she could ignore and insult him and he would take it because he had to, he'd let her know otherwise.

_Danzig_. Gilbert pursed his lips. In the last few days before his departure, he could see she was trying to do what he expected. He saw her lips smile, while her eyes remained a dull gray. He felt her hesitantly caress him, as if her mind were a rider on a stubborn horse. He noted the pause before she spoke his name, as if she had to remind herself of a foreign word. Ja, he had to say she was trying. But it was not enough.

He didn't know what to do. He could threaten her into following the letter of his desire, but how could he make her feel the spirit of it? Obviously he couldn't beat her into it; even Austria knew he wasn't that stupid. He could dangle that _verdammt_ trip to Vienna before her nose, but that only made her perform because she wanted to see that conceited, pious sister of his, not because she felt any affection towards him. Frankly, he was glad to get away from her right now; he needed some time to regroup and consider what he needed to do.

If he and Maria were on better terms, he would confide in her and ask advice. Maria was acquainted with Danzig's character from their days as his cities when he was the Teutonic Order, _and_ they both attended meetings of the Hanseatic League. They had never been close—Maria had been angry on his behalf when Danzig joined with Thorn and Elbing against him—but she could give him the insight about her character that only a fellow female could give. And of course, there had been Maria's years in the convent, living with a variety of mortal girls.

Gilbert couldn't help smirking a little as he recalled all the tips and tricks his sister had told him in how to charm, seduce and manage women. At first he had been shocked at all the goings-on between future brides of Christ, but then he had been titillated. Of course if you lock up a bunch of adolescent girls with only an ugly old priest visiting for confessions and Mass, you would get intense friendships, crushes, rivalries, and fleshly longings. Nature would out, even if it were in a way that would damn their little souls for eternity. And Maria was the fox in the henhouse, perpetually youthful and beautiful, bold, witty, and yet capable of kind gestures and sweet words. The novices were infatuated with her, and easily led into cuddling in her cot on cold winter nights, flattered by her caresses and compliments, overcome by the pleasures she introduced to them. She had had an admirable record of conquests by the time they had drunkenly fallen into bed in 1701.

And she had shared with Gilbert all she had learned about how to render a female stupid with pleasure, grateful and longing for more. Of course, she had taught him for selfish reasons; she wanted to enjoy their time together and not just be used for his own lust. But he had _not_ simply lusted after his sister. He had _loved _her, he had _wanted_ to learn how to do all those things that made her moan and cry with joy, because it thrilled him to see her so carefree, whipping her long silver hair about in a frenzy, flashing her amethyst eyes and wicked grin at him. And afterwards, when they had exhausted each other, he had treasured how she had curled up against him, resting her lovely face against his chest, murmuring huskily, "What a _good_ brother you are to me, Gilbert." She made such a sweet, innocent phrase sound so dirty and worldly. And then she would sigh, "_Ich liebe dich_," and the happiness and contentment would swell in his heart as he stroked her silky hair and soft skin and replied, "_Ich liebe dich, auch,_ Maria."

Gilbert blinked; some _verdammt _dust must have gotten into his eye, he thought. That was all gone now, murdered on a battlefield in 1806, and it wasn't his fault. He had assumed that Maria was retreating with him; he had just seen her kicking her horse into a gallop only a few yards behind him. He hadn't known about the cluster of French soldiers surrounding her, pulling her off and forcing her to wield her saber against the pack of them. He hadn't known one would yank off her shako and see her hair tumble loose, her face too pretty even for a youth. He hadn't known their battle lust and sense of their impending victory would manifest itself in such a humiliating, ugly way on her body. If he had had even one inkling of that, he would have turned back and destroyed every one of them, swept her up on his horse and took her back to safety in Berlin. But no, he had been caught up in his retreat and own disbelief at his failure, and _verdammt_ Poland, his enemy, had rescued his sister.

_Mein Gott,_ that stupid dust mote wouldn't give up. Gilbert knuckled his eye and wiped the tears from his face. Well, the past was the past. He had to keep his frustration and confusion about what to do with Danzig to himself. Maria wouldn't sit down with him and a few glasses of _Kirschwasser_ after dinner, curious to hear about the situation, and willing to advise him. She wouldn't give him clear directions on how to soften the haughty _Polin_'s heart and mind towards him, to make her devoted to him. And she _certainly_ wouldn't wink at him and smirk—that smirk so like his own, but more subtle and seductive—and whisper, "Maybe we should practice what I just told you, ja?" _Nein_, that wasn't going to happen, not even if she actually were polite and treated him like a stranger who had arrived at her house with a letter of introduction.

To distract himself from his tears and harden his resolve, Gilbert drew out the original letters he had received from Krakow and Poland. He had been lucky to find a post office employee whose sister was a gifted forger. He had thought that giving Danzig some letters from her siblings would make her less sad and preoccupied with them. It had seemed to work for a day or two, but still she remained aloof, even after he had reviewed and hidden her responses to them. He had to be patient, he told himself, let time, distance, and fewer, more sparsely worded replies do the job. He reread Krakow's letter:

_Dearest sister,_

_ I am so relieved to hear that you are well. I was shocked when I heard the news from Herr Austria (who had heard it from Herr Bavaria) that you had suffered an almost fatal attack of unconsciousness. For days I agonized over whether you had recovered or not, wondering where you were and what condition you were in. I prayed to the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Jude and any saint whom I thought could intercede and bring you back to us. When I received your letter from Sopot and read of your recovery, I was so relieved._1_ Hungary and Austria were also very happy and they graciously allowed me to have a thanksgiving mass said at St. Mary's Basilica._2_ Both of them were very upset over what had happened and Austria delivered a magnificent, eloquent tirade on Herr Prussia's carelessness and selfish disregard for your health until it was almost too late. He said that it was shameful and even stupid of Prussia not to bring you back to Gdansk at least in the late winter to ensure your strength for the next several months. He and Hungary have been very mindful of my health, and have allowed me to return to Krakow twice since my arrival in Wien. It was very good to meet with my mortals, see my home and neighborhood and to revive myself a little in order to return to their court. Of course, I went with a guard, but they were unobtrusive and undemanding. In his speech, Herr Austria specifically said that he allowed me those visits so that I could maintain my health, and he denounced Prussia for not thinking of that. Hungary has vowed that the next time she sees Herr Prussia, she will give him a taste of her frying pan, even if it is in front of both Emperors! _

_ I received a letter from Feliks, who is currently in Moscow as part of Russia's household. He is doing well, and was very worried about your condition. He does admit that Ivan allows him brief visits to Warsaw under heavy guard, so you do not need to worry that the same will happen to him as almost did to you. He mentioned a wire from you that was very mysterious and he has sent letters to your home in Gdansk as it directed. The rest of his letter was heavily censored, so I could not make out much more, but I do know if you can tell him that you are now safe, healthy and in Potsdam (Herr Austria told me that was where you would most likely be during the summer), he will be relieved and eager to write you as Ivan allows. _

_ We were very fortunate to receive a brief visit from the Kingdom of Saxony and he told us of the cure he prescribed and the news he received from the German Empire that it was working. Gisil has always been a fair friend to our family, and I hope that you will see him during your stay in Potsdam. His description of Herr Prussia's impatience with you in your condition and his ignorance of what to do inflamed me with compassion and anger. Compassion towards you, of course, and anger towards the arrogant selfish nation who claims to be the genius of the German Empire. How that poor boy managed to grow up from the German Confederation to an Empire must be a story of survival despite obstacles; personally, I think the time he spent with Austria, who allowed Saxony and Bavaria to visit and educate him, was what kept him from fading away like the poor Holy Roman Empire. Imagine being left entirely in the care of Prussia, to be educated, raised and disciplined by him! Truly that would be a miserable, harsh experience of half-neglect, half brutal discipline!_

_ But enough, Adeladja. Except for what seems to be willful ignorance of your health, at least it sounds as if he is treating you decently. I hope that this experience has opened his eyes and that he will treat you with more care and tenderness than previously. He must now see that he cannot neglect your health; the eyes of his allies and other German entities are upon him, watching to see if he really is as capable of governance as he presumes to be. And I hope, dear sister, to hear from you soon, so I may be reassured that you are doing as well as you can in such a situation. I include you and Feliks in my prayers every night, and I also pray for the day when we will all resume our rightful places in the world of nations. While Herr Austria is very kind and Hungary is the dearest friend and protectress one could have, even they assume that Poland will be no more. But I know in my heart that our brother will rise again and we will once more be reunited as a family and nation of great cities._

_With all my love,_

_Elena Maria Łukasiewicz_

_Miasto Kraków_

Gilbert's lip curled and his heart pounded as he reached the end of the letter. How dare they, all of them! Stupid Austria's speeches, Hungary's threats, Bavaria's loose lips, and Saxony's boasting! Most of all, how dare Krakow judge him, that ridiculously proud city, crossing herself one moment and insulting him the next! He was almost resolved to take Danzig to Vienna, just so he could torment and humiliate Elena, drag her as low, if not lower than her sister. He would also have to think of ways to humble those idiots Max and Gisil in the _Reichstag. _He would whisper poison in Ludwig's ear about them and advise Bismarck to come down hard on their mortals. That would show them!

It really hurt what Krakow had written about the Empire's upbringing, giving all the credit for his development to Austria, Bavaria and Saxony. If they had had their way, Ludwig would be soft and weak, Roderich's puppet, good only for baking pastries, writing poetry and music. He had had to counter that, by instilling discipline and Prussian virtues of diligence, devotion to duty, loyalty and masculine rigor. He had been no crueler to Ludi than any other nation to its colonies or protectorates; the whippings and scoldings had only been to teach him to respect authority, follow orders, and withstand pain. How else could he have become strong enough to be worthy of an Empire? If some nation or king had given Poland a few cuffs on the ear, maybe he would have turned out stronger and less spoiled, not babbling about his golden liberties all the time. Maybe he'd still be on the map.

Gilbert turned to Poland's letter.

_Dearest sister,_

_ I received word from Krakow that you have been seriously ill, to the point of fading away permanently. I cursed Prussia and I cursed myself for ever agreeing to let you and Elena take on the burden of partition. I had a bad feeling that that selfish devil would try to destroy you just as he had tried to destroy me. He would like nothing better than to erase all connections between us, and if he could not seduce or buy you into forgetting your history, he probably decided that he would let you fade away and wait for a new German entity to appear in your stead. _

_ I was unable to sleep for a week and didn't perform my tasks very well; Ivan grew angry with me, but when I told him of the news I had received, he grew more understanding and patient. Of course, he would not let me leave Moscow (he only allows me to go to Warsaw for short visits, surrounded by spies and soldiers), but he told me to write to Sopot and find out word of your condition. I did and when I didn't hear anything, I feared the worst. And by the worst, I didn't mean that you had disappeared; that news would have traveled Europe and reached me within days. I really feared that that Prussian devil was controlling our correspondence. _

_ So imagine my great relief when I received your letter from Sopot that you were recovering! I was so glad that I danced in joy; I was in the stables, and you should have seen how the horses startled and joined in my chorus of thanksgiving! At least the Prussian devil has enough sense to know that murdering an entity supposedly under his care without his evil master's direct orders would have made him an outcast among nations. It definitely would have turned his fellow Germans and even the Empire himself against him. If the only thing that kept him from doing so was that motive, then I shall be content. Even Ivan seemed pleased for me and offered a toast to your recovery._

_ But I was troubled by the wire I received from you. What do you mean by "regrouping"? I sent a couple of letters as you directed to your home on Long Street, but have received no reply. Was this a ruse by that devil? I wouldn't put it past him. Or has something else happened? Have you managed to convince him that it is safe for you to stay in your city, and has he agreed to do so? Maybe your recent calamity has scared him into leniency. That would make me so happy, for then I could know that you are safe from his clutches and vile designs. There also, you could work to ensure the safety and rights of the Poles in your city and province. Of course, you would have to be careful, but even interceding on a personal level could make a difference. _

_ But maybe I am being too hopeful and ambitious for you. Whatever the current reason, please answer me soon. I mentioned my concern in a letter to Elena and she was able to speak to the Kingdom of Saxony when he visited Wien. He suggested that I send letters not only to your house but to Potsdam and Berlin, in case you were actually in one of those cities. That is what I have done, and so I hope something reaches you and that you will be able to let me know your current situation. Even a few lines emerging from a black block of ink would be good to see from you. _

_Now that I am a member of Ivan's household, I could try to convince him to let me travel with him to Potsdam or Berlin to see you the next time he and his mortals travel there. He seems to regard me as indispensable when it comes to his horses, their tack, and even his own clothing, so surely he would allow us to meet face to face, if only for a few minutes. Again, we would both be under tight watch—I have no illusions otherwise—but to see you, to hear your voice, even if it says the most banal pleasantries acceptable to our captors, would give me some relief and hope._

_Love,_

_Feliks Łukasiewicz_

_Polska_

"Prussian devil", indeed. Gilbert's lips curled in a cold variation of his smirk. If he had really wanted Danzig to disappear, he would have left her on the farm in Mecklenburg. But at least Poland gave him credit for a plan, while arrogant Austria had declared he had been too stupid to know better. And this wire business intrigued him. She must have done that in Zopot when she thought she could actually escape, poor foolish _Schlampe_. It both troubled and amused him to think that even flighty Poland had guessed that he was controlling the correspondence. Gilbert wondered if he should send a wire to Feliks under Danzig's name, telling him to cease the letters to her house. Then he reconsidered; no, let Feliks stay confused, wondering why he never received further instructions about where to best contact her. An occasional letter from Berlin, Potsdam, maybe even Danzig itself, would keep the Polish nation unaware of her real location. And as for keeping Danzig safe from his "clutches and vile designs"—he snorted. They had already crossed that bridge and he would figure out a way to make the city willingly degrade herself further. What a triumph against the Pole's belief that his sisters were too good and pure for other nations, especially him. Well, wasn't the devil the master of disguises and the deep game?

The train would shortly be arriving at Königsberg's station. Gilbert tucked away the letters and pulled out his memorandum book. He made a note to write to Russia. Ivan was more unpredictable than Austria. He could be harsher towards Poland, and more agreeable to Gilbert's plans, but he also had a soft spot for family feeling. Of course, that hadn't kept him from punishing his own sister Belarus, when she had joined Poland, Lithuania and Latvia in rebellion against him in 1862. But all Gilbert would need to do was remind Russia of how carelessly Feliks had treated Ukraine, the sweet older sister who had been like a mother to Ivan, and he would forget any sympathy he might have for separated siblings. If he could get Russia to agree to withholding writing privileges or keeping Feliks in Moscow or Warsaw when he came to visit Prussia on official or social visits, they might be able to drive a deeper wedge between the Polish entities. That would work to both their advantages.

Gilbert got off the train, found his trunks, and hired a hansom cab to take him to his sister's townhouse. As they rolled along the cobblestone streets, past the tall narrow brick and stone houses, his stomach twisted. He was nervous, he realized; no, not nervous, he was _excited_. He was going to see his sister, his closest sibling, his first love, and even though they had been on the outs for almost seventy years, she still consented to his visits. She had to realize Jena hadn't been his fault. He had apologized and wept and begged for her forgiveness so many times; surely a little of his remorse had touched her. This time would be different. She could try to pick a fight with him all she wanted, but he wouldn't lose his temper, or worse, grovel and plead not to be thrown out. This time, he would laugh at her and remind her that he wasn't so desperate. After all, he had Danzig waiting for him in Potsdam.

**Hmmm, so what do you think of the real letters Krakow and Poland sent versus the censored forgeries Adeladja got? And what do you think of Gilbert's memories of Maria? She'll appear in the next chapter. Thanks for reading, and I hope to hear from you in reviews!**

1 Both Krakow and Poland use the Polish spelling for Zopot.

2 St. Mary's Basilica (Church of Our Lady Assumed into Heaven) is a Brick Gothic 14thc. church off the Main Market in Krakow, Poland. Obviously, Austria and Hungary have no problem letting Elena visit her city.


End file.
